


What We May Be

by tinydooms



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: Fleeing horrific abuse at the hands of her family, Julia Poilâne runs away from Villeneuve in search of adventure and a better life. When she stumbles upon an enchanted castle inhabited by a fearsome Beast, Julia sets in motion events that none of them had ever expected.





	1. The Runaway

Note: This story was inspired by a tumblr post by Wolflec (https://tinyurl.com/lod9nzj) about the possibility of a child meeting the Beast, rather than Belle. The idea took shape in my head and I ran with it. I should like to thank her very much, and I hope that if she ever sees this story, she likes it.

**What We May Be**

“Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.”--William Shakespeare

"We know what we are, but not what we may be."--William Shakespeare

 

**Chapter One: The Runaway**

     In the dead of night, Julia Poilâne acted on her plan to run away.

  
     She had been thinking of it for weeks, but her determination had solidified after her latest beating, when Uncle had blackened her eyes for breaking Monsieur Gaston's egg order. It had not been Julia's fault that the eggs had broken-Nico had strung a wire across the barn door to trip her-but Uncle hadn't cared. The eggs were broken and Monsieur Gaston's money would be returned to him. Not that Uncle needed an excuse to beat her. Julia had lain on her pallet for two days, unable to move, crying and plotting her escape.

  
     From her place on the kitchen floor, Julia listened to the sounds of the house. Across the village the church clock chimed eleven. All was silence in the farmhouse. Aunt and Uncle and Nico and Sam were safely asleep, tucked up warm in their comfortable beds. Julia sat up gingerly and slid off of her pallet. The pain from the beating had lessened, but she still couldn't see out of one swollen eye, and her head and shoulders ached. She wouldn't let that stop her. Crossing the kitchen on silent bare feet, Julia lifted one of the shepherds' rucksacks, a flimsy woolen thing, from the back of the larder door and set about filling it with supplies. Aunt's kitchen was well-stocked and Julia moved quickly, knowing where everything was kept even though she was technically forbidden from touching any of the food. _Skivvies and poor relations get what I choose to feed them, nothing more_ , was one of Aunt's favorite sayings.

  
     Well, Julia was no longer a skivvy. She was a runaway. And they deserved to have a little food stolen from them, for all the misery they inflicted on her. Julia hated her relatives with every particle of her ten-year-old heart. She had no qualms about stuffing the rucksack with the two loaves of fresh bread Aunt had left cooling under a cloth, six apples, a string of sausages, an entire round of camembert wrapped in oiled paper. She took a small bag of dry beans, a jar of herbs, a few tomatoes and a sharp knife. On top of it all went the entire sackful of cookies that Aunt baked specially every week for Nico and Sam (“Schoolboys deserve some reward!”). Julia slung the bag across her shoulders and took up a tin plate and cup, and the smallest saucepan. These could go into the saddlebags, for she was determined to take Cider with her.

  
     All was silence in the house as Julia let herself out the kitchen door and hurried to the stable. Outside the air was hot and oppressive, heavy with unfallen rain. The dogs knew her and did not move as she went to the red mare's stall and let herself in. Cider whickered.

  
     “Hush, lady, it's me!” Julia whispered, hurrying to saddle and bridle the horse and stuff her supplies in the saddlebag. She knew that horse thieving was a serious offence, but she couldn't leave Cider-Uncle was almost as cruel to her as he was to Julia.

  
     As she led Cider from the barn, Julia's eyes fell on Nico's wooden sword, standing propped against the wall of the barn. It was a fine thing, carved of oak and sanded to a smooth finish. Nico had been gifted it last Christmas and was immensely fond of it. Julia knew from experience that it delivered a solid smack. She took it and threaded it through her belt. You never knew when you would need a sword, even if it was only a wooden one.

  
     Julia led Cider out of the yard, only mounting up when she was safely down the street. Villeneuve was silent at this hour, its hard-working citizens safely abed. No one noticed a tiny ragged girl atop a tall horse riding out of the village and away. As they left the village for the open fields, Julia urged Cider into a gallop, heading northeast towards the overgrown forest paths that the villagers tended to avoid. Despite the pain in her head and the fear of the unknown, Julia felt her heart soaring. She had done it! She had escaped! Who knew what the future might hold-Julia only knew in that moment the giddy soaring relief of freedom.

  
     But she had to be away, far away, before morning when Uncle woke and came after her. What he would do to her if he found her didn't bear thinking about.

  
     Cider flew into the shadow of the trees, and Julia brought her down to a fast trot. This part of the forest was strange to her. There was something about the northeastern paths that made everyone nervous. She had heard stories of it being haunted. Whatever the case, Julia knew well that the people of Villeneuve disliked these paths and avoided them assiduously, and she meant to use that fear to her advantage. Uncle would think that she was frightened and would stick to the familiar paths when he looked for her. By then she would be long gone.

  
     The forest was dark and silent, the trees grown close together and the underbrush tangled. Julia knew that there were wolves in these woods and hoped that she would not have to encounter any. The building pressure of the coming storm seemed to muffle all sound, and a hot breeze blew through the leaves with a mean little whisper. They jogged along the unfamiliar path for a long time, turning whenever there was a fork in the road. Julia prayed that the rain would hold off until she was able to find some sort of shelter, for she only had her thin capelet. _Should've brought Sam's oilskin, you fool_ , she thought and sighed. Too late. A storm would hinder a search party, anyway.

  
     She had been riding for an hour or two, eyes beginning to itch with tiredness, when the storm broke overhead. The canopy was dense, but enough rain passed through the leaves to soak Julia and Cider. The wind screamed around them, lashing the trees, and suddenly an ancient oak on the path ahead shed a branch, sending it crashing to the forest floor right before Cider's hooves, sending the mare snorting and rearing in fear.

  
     “It's all right, Cider, whoa! Whoa!” Julia yelled, but the mare reared again and plunged down the path revealed by the fallen branch. Julia hung on as the horse ran, praying that she wouldn't fall off. On and on they ran, plunging along the overgrown path. The air grew colder as they went, stinging at Julia's cheeks, until at last Cider slowed and Julia, looking around, realized that it was snowing.

  
     Snow? In June? How was that possible? It swirled around her, the same storm as before, only made winter. Cider minced along, stepping carefully through the snow drifts that covered the twisting path. Julia gathered her capelet around her and peered around, wondering if she had fallen off of Cider and hit her head, if she was now dreaming. The snow was beginning to fall heavier now.Nearby, Julia heard the howling of wolves and shivered. White shapes bobbed around her, coming towards her through the trees. Wolves.

  
     “Come on, Cider! Run!”

  
     The mare needed no encouragement and shot ahead. The wolves followed, howling, and Julia tried not to scream in terror. There was nowhere to go but forward. What was that up ahead?

  
     The forest thinned out, giving way to a monstrous pair of gates. Beyond them, a snowy garden stretched into darkness. And at the end of the darkness stood a castle. Not much choice-Julia made for the gates. They creaked open as she neared, and Cider leaped through. The gates slammed shut behind her, locking the wolves out. Julia gave a thankful sob and made for the castle.

  
     Cider slowed as they approached, blowing hard. Julia leaned down and embraced her, petting and crooning.

     “You're so brave, my dear girl, you saved us from the wolves! Maybe we can rest here. They opened the gates for us.”

  
     But who had opened them? There seemed to be no lights in the castle, but for one in a far tower, and the castle itself looked half-ruined. And what was a castle doing in the middle of the northeastern forest, two hours' ride from Villeneuve? Was this what frightened the villagers? But surely they would have mentioned it. People talked around Julia; they took no notice of her. Surely someone would have mentioned a castle?

  
     As she approached, Julia saw that there were lights inside, a handful of very dim ones. Indeed, there was a light under the stairs that led up the castle's front door. Sliding off of Cider, she picked her way through the snow to discover a single stable stall under the stairs. The stall door opened as they approached. The stall itself was strewn with fresh straw, and there was a streaming water fountain and a rack of fresh hay waiting in the manger. There seemed no reason not to go inside, where everything a horse could possibly want lay waiting: a rack of straw in the manger, water in a bucket, another bucket filled with oat, an array of brushes, a quilted blanket. Julia stared. Why was this all just awaiting her? It was all beyond her. Between her fatigue, the daring of her escape, getting lost in the woods, the wolves, and now this, Julia was confused and more than a little frightened, but she knew her duty to her horse. Cider whickered her happiness as Julia removed her tack, setting it on a saddle rack just outside the stall, and gave her a good brushing. The horse turned her attention to the bucket of oats, seeming to dismiss Julia, who picked up the fine horse blanket and slung it over Cider, buttoning it across the horse's chest.

  
     “Thank you,” Julia said out loud, she wasn't sure to whom. The air seemed to be listening. She patted Cider's shoulder and saw herself out. If the people here were giving her horse straw and oats and blankets, they couldn't be offended if Julia asked to spend the night by the kitchen fire.

  
     Shutting the stall door behind her, Julia floundered through the snow towards the stairs. The snow bit at her bare feet, feeling like fire. A light shone in a lamp at the bottom of the stairs where none had been before; as Julia approached she saw that a line of them was lit to lead her to the top of the stairs and across a snowy courtyard to an enormous front door. This opened as Julia approached and she hurried inside, gasping, her feet frozen and the rest of her following. The door eased itself shut behind her.

     “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  
     Julia peered around the front hall. Directly across from her stood a grand marble staircase, its banisters carved to look like writhing dragons. To her left, darkened rooms. To her right, a fireplace so huge that Uncle could have stood up in it, filled with logs that crackled and flamed. Julia forgot everything at the sight of that fire. She hurried to it, skirting the armchairs and tea table that stood around it, and held out her hands. They were blue with cold. Her feet burned with it. She stood as close to the fire as she dared, warming herself. The fire crackled and snapped, and it seemed in the softness of the noise that she could hear whispers.

  
     “She must have lost her way in the woods.”

  
     “Be quiet, you idiot.”

  
     “Is someone there?” Julia called, turning back to the great empty hall. She could see no one. From behind her came the sound of a door opening, and wheels rolling along the marble floor.

  
     “Oh, oh my, look at you, you poor thing!”

  
     It was a woman's voice, speaking in an accent that Julia had never heard, but rather liked. Julia whipped around. A tea service on a trolley had wheeled itself into view, but there was no one there. And then the teapot moved.

  
     “I don't mean to scare you, love, but you look frozen through and a nice spot of tea will do you a world of good,” came the woman's voice from the tea trolley, and Julia, trying to locate it, froze. The teapot was _moving_. It poured a stream of brown tea into a chipped cup and turned around to face Julia. It had _eyes_ , and a _mouth_ , and it was _talking_.

  
     “Do you take milk and sugar?”

  
     “You can talk!” The words burst out of her mouth before she could stop them. The teapot laughed.

  
     “Yes, poppet, I can. I'm Mrs. Potts, at your service. Sit down and warm yourself, love, you look done in. Chip!”

  
     The chipped cup leaped into Julia's hands. She stared at it as it grinned up at her. “I like your sword,” it said.

  
     Her sword. The sword she had stolen. Should she drop this talking teacup and brandish her sword at it? For a moment, Julia was tempted, but she dismissed the thought. It would be a silly thing to do. And the tea was hot and she was freezing. The high of her escape, the fear of the wolves, the strangeness of the stable and now this talking pottery-all at once it was too much, and she sank down onto the chair before the fire and tried not to cry.

  
     “Oh, oh dearie, it's all right, you're all right now. Drink your tea, poppet, that's right. Lumiere, come over here, the poor child needs some light,” the teapot-Mrs. Potts-said.

  
     A candelabrum leaped from a sideboard onto the table, flaring into life as it did. “Of course, Mrs. Potts, I am so glad you 'ave taken the lead on this situation. Welcome, mademoiselle, to our 'umble abode! I am Lumiere! Come, come, warm yourself! How is your tea?”

  
     How to answer that? The candelabrum was alive, it was a little man with candles for hands and an expressive face. The teapot could speak, and the teacup. And-Julia didn't know whether to be delighted or horrified-a mantle clock was joining them, berating the candelabrum for speaking.

  
     “What will the master say if he sees us talking to this child?”

   
     “The master can't object to us looking after a traveler sheltering from the storm,” Mrs. Potts snapped. “I should think that's the last thing he has any right to object to.”

  
     “We cannot send her back out into the snow, Cogsworth, it's a howling gale!”

  
     “As head of this household, I must tell you that this is most unwise!”

  
     The teacup in her hands turned to Julia. “They're going to be at it for a while, but Mum'll win,” he said. “Best drink your tea. I'm Chip, by the way.”

  
     Julia blinked rapidly and raised the cup to her lips. The tea was hot and milky and good, and she felt it warming her chest as she swallowed. The argument did seem to be going Mrs. Potts's way; the mantle clock called Cogsworth was now agreeing that it wouldn't do to send Julia back out into the snow. Julia stretched her feet out to the fire. They tingled, but not with frostbite. She guessed that she would be all right.

  
     “She needs a hot meal and a nice place to sleep. I will have Plumette prepare a bedroom at once!” said Lumiere.

  
     “You will do no such thing,” said Cogsworth. “We can't put her in a bedroom without permission. Make up a sofa for her in the little drawing room.”

  
     This was going to a lot more trouble than Julia could handle. “I really only need a blanket. I can sleep in front of the fire.”

  
     “Oh no, dear, we'll look after you properly,” Mrs. Potts said. “Be quiet, you two, can't you see she's overwhelmed? Cogsworth, tell Monsieur Cuisinier to heat up that stew from supper, and Lumiere, ask Plumette to make up a bed in my sitting room. Come now, no more bickering. The poor little thing is exhausted.”

  
     The clock and the candle stick seemed to accept Mrs. Potts's declaration, for they both turned-and stopped, looking startled.

  
     “Uh-oh,” muttered Chip, and jumped out of Julia's hands back to the tea trolley.

  
     The front door was opening again, letting in a stream of snow and cold air-and something else. Julia leaped to her feet, her hand going to the wooden sword in her belt. The something else was huge, a dark shadow that coalesced into a monster seven feet tall, with curved horns and claws and a tail. It trailed a cloak of rags, or maybe that was its hide. Julia yanked her sword out and held it before her.

  
     “Lumiere,” it rumbled, its voice filling the entrance hall. “There is a horse in the stall beneath the stairs!”


	2. The Guest

**Chapter Two: The Guest**

 

     And then the monster saw Julia and stopped dead. For a moment they stared at each other, child and beast, across the expanse of the entrance hall.

     “Who are _you_?” snapped the Beast.

     Julia burst into tears. She stood rooted to the spot, sword in hand, shaking so badly she could scarcely stand up, tears running down her face. Talking furniture was one thing-she could tell herself that she was dreaming. But a Beast?

      “Master, this child was lost in the dark and found 'er way to us,” Lumiere said.

      “And she's freezing cold and barefoot, I'll have you know,” Mrs. Potts added, her voice sharp. “We were about to give her a meal and a bed for the night.”

     The Beast ignored them. “Who are you?” he repeated. “How did you find my castle?”

     Somewhere deep inside Julia, her courage ignited. “I'm Julia Poilâne. I was running away.”

     “Running away? Where?”

     “Anywhere. There was a storm and I got lost and then there were wolves and then-then-” she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Are you going to eat me?”

     “ _Eat_ you?” the Beast roared, and Julia squeaked. He shook his head, glaring. “ _Eat_ you. Child, never in my life have I eaten a human and I am not about to start with a scrap like you. What happened to your face?”

     Her face? Oh, of course. “Uncle beat me.”

     “What for?”

     “I tripped and broke all of M'sier Gaston's eggs.”

     The Beast was still staring. “And he beat you for this?”

     “Yes.”

     “Where are your parents? Don't they have anything to say to your uncle?”

     “I haven't got any, and they wouldn't care if I did.”

     The Beast shook his head, mystified. “You should go home. This castle is no place for a child.”

     Panic filled Julia's chest, drowning her fear of the monster before her. “No! I'm not going back, I'm _never_ going back! I'd freeze to death before I did! You don't know what they're capable of; I'm _never_ going back to them!”

     She realized she was still holding her sword before her. Embarrassed, she lowered it, but she did not stop glaring. For a moment they faced off, girl and Beast. And then the Beast sighed.

     “Mrs. Potts, you're going to feed her and put her up for the night?”

     “Yes, sir, the poor thing is dead on her feet.”

     “Then take care of her. What did you say your name was, girl?”

     Julia swallowed. “Julia Poilâne.”

     “Well, then, Julia Poilâne, my servants will attend to you. We will speak in the morning.”

     And with that, the Beast turned away and went up the marble staircase, vanishing into the upper reaches of the castle. The staff let out a collective sigh.

     “That went better than I might have 'oped,” Lumiere said. “Very good, miss, this way, please!”

      Dazed, Julia followed the staff away from the fire, through a large room filled with a table and chairs, then through another door into a large kitchen. Unlike the front hall, the kitchen bustled with energy. A stove sang to itself against one wall, its copper hands stirring a pot and taking fresh bread from its oven all at once, while in a huge sink dishes washed themselves, laughing and talking. For a moment none of them noticed Julia standing just behind Mrs. Potts's trolley, then everything fell silent. Lumiere strode forward and clapped his candles together.

     “Come, come, _mes amis_ , we have a guest! Set a place at the table, someone, and Monsieur Cuisinier, please provide the child with a bowl of stew and some rolls!”

     Monsieur Cuisinier, the stove, gave a whoop. “A guest! Does the Master know? Someone give me a bowl!”

     Julia left Lumiere informing the stove that the Master did indeed know that there was a lost child in the house, and that moreover, the same child had waved a sword in his face and refused to leave, and moved to the table, removing her rucksack and letting it settle at her feet. Lumiere's tale seemed to delight the dishes, for they flew into place at the huge round kitchen table before Julia could even sit down. Chip leaped from trolley to table, and Mrs. Potts poured another cup of tea. A chair bustled up behind Julia, so big that it dwarfed her, and a pair of cushions flew to bolster her up to table-height. A moment later, a most decadent meal was set before her: a blue and white china bowl of chicken stew, a basket of soft bread rolls, a pat of butter, a glass of red juice.

     “Now, poppet, eat up, and don't stop until you're full,” Mrs. Potts said. “I've asked Plumette to run a bath for you, but you just take your time eating.”

     For a long moment, Julia just stared at the food, drinking it in. It all looked so pretty, like something from a fairy story, the blue and white china gleaming, the silver shining in the light, the basket of bread and the rich chicken stew. She reached for the glass of juice; it tasted of raspberries. Julia picked up a spoon, dipped it into the stew, and brought it to her mouth. A melange of flavours hit her: chicken, wine, carrots, braised greens. All thought flew out of Julia's head; she leaned over and devoured the meal, eating as quickly as she could, snatching a roll from time to time. The bowl emptied; a ladle bearing more stew appeared to refill it once, then again as she emptied the bowl a second time. Never in her life had Julia been allowed seconds-this kitchen gave her thirds. She ate until she couldn't manage another bite, unaware of the silence in the room as the staff watched this mysterious little starveling eat the most delicious meal of her young life. At last, Julia set her spoon down and drew in a deep, contented breath. She looked up and smiled at the kitchen denizens in general.

     “Thank you,” she said, meaning it with all of her heart, “I've never had anything so good, _ever_.”

     “Child,” Monsieur Cuisinier said, his voice oddly thick, “it is my pleasure to cook for you.”

     Julia smiled again, leaning back in her chair. She was suddenly exhausted, and yet Mrs. Potts had mentioned a bath. Julia knew that she needed one. It had been rather a long time since she had last washed.

     A fairy seemed to fly down to the table before her, waving its feathered tail and looking at Julia with black eyes in its pearl-handled face. Not a fairy-a flying feather duster.

     “Enchanté, mademoiselle,” she said, her voice tinkling like bells. “I am Plumette. I have your bed and bath ready, if you'll follow me.”

     Lumiere gave a sigh of delight. “My darling Plumette! I will leave you in 'er capable wings, mademoiselle, and see you in the morning. Good night!”

     The big chair pulled back from the table, and Julia slid off of her pile of cushions to follow Plumette, Chip, and Mrs. Potts into a little sitting room. The room was full of dressers, which held linens and things. Chip leaped up onto a shelf and settled himself under a napkin, murmuring a sleepy good night. Mrs. Potts and Plumette led Julia on to another door, this one leading to a small but well-appointed bathroom. A bathtub full of water steamed in one corner.

     “'Ere is soap and 'ot water and towels, and I've laid a nightgown and drawers for you on the table there,” Plumette said, swishing around. “'Ave you a name, little one?”

     Julia tore her eyes from the bathtub. “I'm Julia.”

     “Alors, then, Julia, enjoy your bath! I am at your service should you need my 'elp,” Plumette said, and whisked herself out.

     Mrs. Potts's trolley moved towards the door and the teapot smiled. “Go on, then, poppet, only mind you don't fall asleep in that water. You have a bed through here when you're done.”

     She went out and the door shut behind her. Julia didn't wait; she hurried out of her clothes, folding them carefully aside, and climbed into the tub of steaming water. She sank into it with a sigh. Never, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined ever having a bath like this. Usually she had to cat-wash, scrubbing herself down with a bucket of cold water and a rag. Here there was soap for the hair and for the body, and the water was hot and clean and good. Julia scrubbed and scrubbed, until her skin was red and raw and clean, so clean, and her hair squeaked. She grinned. If the Beast left her alone and let her have regular baths, she wouldn't mind being stuck here during a storm. And her belly was full for the first time in her life. How nice it felt.

     After a long time, Julia forced herself to climb out of the hot bath and dry herself with one of the soft blue towels that Plumette had laid out. She scrubbed her brown hair dry with a smaller one, and hung both back on the hooks on the bathroom door. There was a hairbrush next to the basin, and it didn't seem to be alive. Julia took it to her hair, working out the snarls. Finally, she donned the drawers Plumette had left behind and turned her attention to the nightgown. It was of the finest white lambswool, embroidered with ivory roses, guaranteed to keep the cold at bay. Julia put it on, feeling strange. It was too pretty a garment for a skivvy like her to be wearing. A princess would wear this nightgown. Julia did not need anyone to tell her that she wasn't a princess. But her ragged clothes had vanished while she was bathing. There was nothing for it. She sighed and let herself out of the bathroom, wondering if she would ever have a bath like that again.

     Mrs. Potts was seated on the shelf beside Chip, a candle next to her burning. Julia, paying attention to the sitting room for the first time, saw that there was a couch drawn up next to the modest fireplace, decked with fine blankets and pillows.

     “There's your bed, poppet, and in you get,” Mrs. Potts said. “You look a sight better for that bath.”

     “Thank you,” Julia said. “I've never had a bath before. I'm really clean now.”

     Mrs. Potts smiled. “Clean and well-fed. It does make a world of difference, doesn't it? Rest now. You've been a brave girl and earned it.”

_Brave_. No one had ever called Julia brave before. She almost commented on it, but she was so tired that the room was beginning to tip and swirl, and she felt slightly nauseated. Bidding Mrs. Potts goodnight, Julia slid under the blankets on the couch, pulling them up to her chin. It was the softest bed she could have imagined, all goose feather blankets and fine linen. A thick blanket had been laid down as a cushion, and two more covered Julia. She rested her head on two fine thick pillows. Mrs. Potts put the candle out and silence fell on the little room, broken only by the howling of the wind outside, and the ice that struck the windows. Julia closed her eyes, reflecting that this was the most marvelous dream she had ever had, Beast notwithstanding. In moments, she slept.

 

*

     Far away in the West Wing, the Master of the Castle observed his tiny guest in his magic mirror. The starveling child looked a sight better for a meal and a wash, but what was he going to do with a child? Travelers had stayed the night at the castle before, but never before had the Master or any of his staff revealed themselves to them, preferring to put them up in the little sitting room and send them on their way with fresh supplies in the morning. This child had seen him, spoken with him, waved a sword in his face, which no one had ever dared to do before. For that alone, she had his grudging respect.

     Well, let her stay for the time being. She couldn't leave in a storm, anyway. The Master put down the mirror and took himself off to the nest on the floor he called his bed. She could not break the curse, but then, the curse was not meant to be broken, whatever the servants thought. With a sigh, the Master closed his eyes.

 


	3. The Beast

**Chapter Three: The Beast**

 

     The castle staff was in a tizzy long before Julia awoke the next morning. Monsieur Cuisinier had found himself unexpectedly affected by the way the tiny girl had inhaled her impromptu dinner, and woke up excited to cook for the first time in years. The Master's appetites were in constant flux; there had been a time, soon after that witch had damned them all to this strange half-life, where he had refused to eat anything at all, until he was skin and bones and Mrs. Potts had staged an intervention that she would have never dared before. And there were other times when he ate like a glutton, and it was all Monsieur Cuisinier could do to keep up with his appetite. He suspected that this Julia child had never seen a square meal in her life-she had almost, with her head bent to the bowl, looked like the Master as she inhaled her stew and rolls. No guest would starve here, and Julia would be a good deal plumper soon if Monsieur had anything to do with it. And so from an early hour he cajoled the kitchen staff, composing a meal that the little girl would delight in.

     Plumette and Mrs. Potts led an army of dusters upstairs to the Flower Suite in the East Wing, where they dusted the long-neglected chamber and changed the bedding on the canopy bed, threw open the windows to air the place out, and generally made the room habitable. Madame de Garderobe, awakening to the tumult, was presented with Julia's raggedy old clothes and let out a screech of dismay.

     “What child can wear these rags and survive this winter?” she cried. “She must have new things! Nice things! Beautiful things!”

     “Yes, dear, of course, but be practical,” Mrs. Potts cautioned. “She's a farm girl; she won't know how to get around in the clothes palace children are used to.”

     Plumette hovered in mid-air, looking thoughtful. “Pretend she is me, Madame, and that you are trying to make me presentable. Give her skirts and blouses and jackets such as I would wear, both pretty and practical. And pockets. A girl should have pockets to keep her dollies in.”

     Mrs. Potts sniffed. “I doubt this child has ever had a dolly in her life. Did you see that black eye? And she's bone thin. A proper wraith she is, but we'll take care of that. She had a sword, though.”

     Madame de Garderobe gasped, hands going to her three-drawer bosom. “A sword! My goodness.”

     “Yes, a wooden one. Give her a belt for it, or at least a loop,” Plumette said, and giggled. “The Master tried to make her leave and she waved it in his face!”

     Madame de Garderobe and Mrs. Potts laughed. “I like her already,” the diva said. “It's a shame she is too young to break the curse.”

     Mrs. Potts and Plumette sobered. “Still, she's a guest and we'll do right by her. And perhaps she will do some good for the Master. He did not bellow at her last night, not really.”

     “At least not until she asked if he would eat her, that is what Lumiere told me,” Plumette chuckled, and Madame de Garderobe laughed again.

     “Leave it to me, my dears, I will make her the most beautiful practical clothes she has ever seen. Pinks! Blues! Pale greens! What fun it will be to dress someone again!” Madame de Garderobe sighed wistfully and went to work. They left her to it.

     Lumiere and Cogsworth were in the West Wing, trying to cajole the Master into presenting himself to the guest.

     “You must speak with 'er! She's our guest!” the candelabrum said. “Come, come, master, she will awake soon and Monsieur Cuisinier is making the most delectable meal!”

     The Master, still lying in his nest of broken furniture and rags like an arrogant tom cat, glared at them. “She's a peasant child with an awful lot of nerve. Why should I speak to her?”

     “You did tell her last night that you would,” Cogsworth pointed out. “It's only reasonable that you should discuss her future.”

     “Discuss her-she isn't MY child!” the Master said, exasperated. “I've never seen her before. She even said that she was a run-away!”

     Lumiere folded his arms. “And I can understand why, even if you cannot. Did you see 'er face, Master? Black and blue and one eye swollen shut. And she inhaled the dinner we gave her last night. Indeed, she looked like you, wolfing it down.”

     The Master glared. Lumiere glared back. He remembered the Master as a little lad, following him around the castle, copying Lumiere's mannerisms, back before this had all happened. He was not about be daunted by him now.

     “The breakfast table is set and ready. You can have a nice civilized conversation about what she plans to do.”

     “If you make us meet over food, she will likely think I'll eat her,” snapped the Master, heaving himself upright. “She thought so last night.”

     “Then you must show her that she has nothing to be frightened of,” Cogsworth said. “At least tell her that she can stay until the storm ends.”

     They all looked towards the broken windows at the far end of the suite, where the enchantress's rose bloomed under its bell jar. Driven snow lay on the stone steps leading from the windows and drifted around the plinth. Outside, the snow still fell as thick and lush as a velvet curtain, as if it planned to fall forever. The Master sighed.

     “I will not _eat_ with her, but I will speak to her once she is finished, in the little drawing room. You may bring her to me when she is ready.” He waved a hand, expecting his servants to go, but clock and candelabrum stood united, staring at him.

     “Master,” said Lumiere, “Might I suggest that you dress yourself more as the master of the castle than a wild beast if you do not wish the child to think you a monster?”

 

*

     It was nearly ten o'clock before Julia awoke. For a time she lay warm and comfortable, remembering the wonderful dream she had had, of running away and finding an enchanted castle. There had been a beast in it, but also talking furniture and a fantastic dinner and a bath. She didn't want to wake up back on her pallet on the farmhouse floor. But eventually she came to herself fully and opened her eyes-and smiled.

     For it wasn't a dream at all. She was in the little bed in Mrs. Potts's sitting room, wearing a borrowed nightgown, with clean hair and skin. Julia sat up, looking around, grinning. She had actually run away and found an adventure.

     There was a chair drawn up beside her couch, on which was folded a neat pile of clothes. Julia picked them up, wondering. There was a fine white cambric chemise, three flannel petticoats, and a simple white blouse with embroidered flowers at the cuffs. Under these lay a quilted skirt in peacock blue satin, a color she had only ever seen M'sieur Gaston wear, and a quilted jacket in a lighter blue like the summer sun on water, with long sleeves and a peplum. They were so pretty that Julia scarcely dared touch them. She looked around in vain for her old clothes, but they were nowhere to be seen.

     “Are you all ready, petite?” Plumette flew through the door, swishing her feathers. A square footstool trundled in after her and began sniffing at Julia; with some surprise, she realized that it was a dog. “It is good to see you awake! You were so asleep that even Chip's chatter didn't wake you.”

     Julia blushed. “I'm sorry I slept so late.”

     “Eh, _bien_ , child, we all sleep when we need to,” Plumette replied. “But you have not dressed! Madame de Garderobe made these things especially for you.”

     “But they're far too nice for me!” Julia protested.

     “Nonsense!” Plumette said. “They are perfect for you. Come along now, dress; breakfast is waiting. Frou-Frou! Let mademoiselle be!”

     It was really the mention of breakfast that got Julia into the princess clothes. She had to admit that they felt lovely against her skin, all soft and warm. There were stockings, too, and even a pair of stout leather boots that someone had set next to the bed. Julia had never worn boots before, and though these were not new, they were very comfortable, and nicer even than the ones that M'sieur Gaston wore.

     “And a ribbon through your hair,” Plumette said, whipping a red band around Julia's head. “No buts! There you are, so pretty, my petite mademoiselle!”

     There was no mirror in the sitting room or the little bathroom, but Julia could well imagine that she looked as pretty as she felt. She followed Plumette and the dog, Frou-Frou, out into the kitchen, where Monsieur Cuisinier greeted her, and through to the formal dining room they had passed through the night before. Julia felt a tad disappointed at this; she had wanted to watch the kitchen in action. But the table was set with a single setting and what seemed like scores of dishes, and the chair with cushions on it was waiting for her to climb up and eat, so she did. Chip was waiting on the table.

     “Good morning, Julia!” he said. “Did you sleep well? Do you want to explore the castle with me after you talk to the Master? I know all of the good hiding places if you want to play hide and seek.”

     “I have to talk to the Master?” Did he mean the Beast? Julia's stomach twisted.

     Chip paused. “Yes, him. He's not so bad, really. He shouts at Mum sometimes, but she just shouts back. I think he's lonely.”

     A Beast, lonely? Didn't he have a castle full of enchanted furniture to talk to?

     “Where's Mrs. Potts?” Julia said at last. She would have liked to see the talking teapot. Mrs. Potts seemed a proper kind, no-nonsense sort and Julia appreciated that.

     “Talking with the Master and serving him tea,” Chip replied. “I've got tea for you, see?” He bent forward, sloshing the liquid a little for her to see. “Wanna see me do a trick?”

     The tea began to bubble, roiling in the little cup until it broke in foamy waves. Julia began to giggle, and Chip laughed.

     “Mum doesn't like it when I do that,” he confided. “What are you going to eat for breakfast?”

     Julia looked at the spread. There were hotcakes in a silver dish, porridge in a pot, a basket of fresh hot rolls with butter and cherry jam in little crocks on the side. A little basket contained two boiled eggs, some cheese, and ham, and another silver dish held sausages. Her stomach had twisted at Chip's mention of the Beast, but the breakfast looked so enticing that she found herself reaching for the hotcakes.

     “Good choice,” said Chip.

     “Do you want to try some?”

     “Oh, no thanks,” said Chip. “You're the guest.”

     Guest. That seemed strange to Julia, but she decided to enjoy it while it lasted. And the hot cakes were delicious, like the crepes Aunt made her family at Easter, but thicker. Julia ate three of them, doused in an unfamiliar sweet syrup, then ate an egg and two sausages. She was just wondering if she could manage a ham and cheese roll when Lumiere came in, striding through the dining room door with the confidence of a much larger, more human man.

     “Good morning, mademoiselle!” he exclaimed. “I 'ope you 'ave enjoyed your breakfast. 'As young Chip taken good care of you?”

     “Yes, monsieur,” Julia said, smiling at him. Lumiere seemed so jolly that she couldn't help but like him.

     “I showed her my bubble trick,” Chip added.

     “A noble feat,” Lumiere said with a smile, “And perhaps not one I would mention to your mother. Now, Julia, _ma cherie_ , if you are ready, the Master is awaiting you in the little drawing room. 'E is eager to make your acquaintance.”

     “Really?” said Chip, sounding genuinely astonished. Julia shot him a worried glance. “I mean, he never seems eager to see anyone.”

     Lumiere waved a candle. “Only because 'e never 'as anyone new to speak with. Come along, now.”

     Julia slid off of her cushions and made to follow the candelabrum, then stopped. “Can Chip come? Please?”

     “Me?” Chip squawked.

     Julia gave him a beseeching look. “Please?”

     “'E may come if 'e wants to; 'is mother is there, too,” Lumiere said.

     “That's all right, then. Hands up, Julia!” Julia caught the little teacup in her hands and raised him to her face.

     “Thank you,” she whispered.

     “You're welcome,” Chip replied. “Don't worry. He's really not that bad.”

     The children followed Lumiere back into the main hall, past the great staircase, and beyond several closed doors to a little eastward-facing room. Pausing in the doorway, Julia felt that ordinarily the room would be full of morning sunlight, if only the snow wasn't still sleeting down. It was an exquisite room, all oaken floors and expensive-looking carpets and velvet armchairs. There was a fire in the fireplace, and before it in a great hulking armchair sat the Beast.

     He was dressed like a man this morning, the raggedy cloak from last night missing. His clothes were fine and blue like Julia's, only old and a little moth eaten, as though he had not worn that particular coat in a very long time. His mane straggled about his ears. He remained seated, watching her watching him.

     “Master, here is Mademoiselle Julia Poilâne of Villeneuve to make your formal acquaintance,” Lumiere said, jumping onto the tea trolley beside Mrs. Potts. “Chip you know, of course.”

     The Beast gave Lumiere a sardonic glance. “Of course.” He turned his eyes back to Julia; she took an involuntary step back. “Come closer, Julia Poilâne of Villeneuve. I don't like you skulking in the doorway.”

     Julia took a deep breath and came forward, stopping next to the tea trolley. Chip jumped out of her hands and stood beside his mother. Julia rather wished he hadn't left her, and the feeling intensified when Mrs. Potts said, “We'll just let you talk, then,” and wheeled them out, leaving her alone with Lumiere and the Beast. She looked up at him with big brown eyes, to see him studying her.

     “Well, I see that you are indeed a human girl, and not a bedraggled rabbit as I first thought,” the Beast said, looking her over. “I did wonder.”

     Julia flushed. “I see that you are a very big creature, even if you do live in a castle,” she snapped. “They took my old clothes away. I had to borrow these princess clothes until mine are washed.”

     The Beast's eyebrows went up. “Those weren't clothes, they were rags. Don't you know the difference?”

     “Yes.” Julia shifted. She felt that the Beast was teasing her and didn't like it. “I wasn't allowed new clothes.”

     “I don't suggest you try to deny the servants their right to dress you,” the Beast replied. “They have a tendency to do what they want.”

     There seemed nothing to say to this, and so Julia stayed silent. At last, the Beast cocked his head.

     “Are you well today?” His voice was gruff, grudging, as though he was not used to having a conversation. Julia was a bit at sea herself.

     “Yes, monsieur. I had a very good breakfast, and Chip blew bubbles for me.”

     “And my servants attended to you well last night?”

     “They gave me dinner and a bath and a bed,” Julia replied, smiling a little at the memory. “It was a real bed, too, with blankets and pillows. I wanted to stay in it forever. I've never been so comfortable in my life, ever.”

      The Beast barked a laugh. “A real bed? As opposed to what, the floor?”

     Julia stared. “Well, yes. That's where I usually sleep.”

     Something passed over the Beast's face, a look of disbelief that Julia couldn't quite understand. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then the Beast spoke again. “You said last night that you had run away. Why?”

     Julia huffed. “Because Nico tripped me up and made me break Monsieur Gaston's egg order and Uncle beat me for it when it wasn't really my fault. And I was so tired of being beaten all the time that I decided to leave. And I'm not going back!”

     “Yes, you said,” the Beast said wryly. “Why did he hit you?”

     “Because I broke M'sier Gaston's-”

     “His eggs, yes, you crushed his eggs because your cousin tripped you. How badly did the man need his eggs, to warrant such a beating?”

     “Badly. He eats five dozen a day, you know.”

     “Eggs?” The Beast looked astounded. “Child, nobody eats five dozen eggs a day; it's not possible.”

     Julia shrugged. “M'sieur Gaston does. But Uncle would've hit me anyway. He does all the time, and Aunt and Nico and Sam, too.”

     “Why?”

     “Because I'm bad. Evil. Wrong.”

     The Beast's eyebrows went up again. “Are you, now?”

     “That's what _they_ say, anyway. That's why I'm not allowed to be in the family,” Julia explained. “Because my father debauched my mother, and then she died when I was born, so I'm created of evil and made evil by existing. That's what Aunt and Uncle say, anyway. That's why I was a slavey and a punching bag.”

     The Beast's mouth opened a little, revealing too many long white teeth. Julia glared at him, wondering if she ought to draw her sword. Now that she had confessed, probably he would eat her. But he spoke again, more to himself than to her.

     “And that woman said that I was cruel.”

     “What?”

     “Nothing. How old are you, Julia Poilâne the runaway punching bag?”

     “Ten years old last March. I know because on my birthday Père Robert gave me a treat and told me I was a good girl.”

     “Hm.” The Beast was quiet for a moment, studying her. Julia decided to risk asking a question.

     “What does 'debauched' mean?”

     The Beast looked astonished at the question. “It, er, it means dissolute, depraved, sinful, licentious, wanton. It's not a verb. I guess it means your father forced himself on her.”

     “Oh.” This was something to think about. “Uncle says he was a bad man. Everyone in Uncle's family is bad, too. That's why I ran away. You can't make me go back.”

     “Apparently not. You would really rather remain here than go back to your village?”

     What a stupid question. Julia scoffed. “Of course, only of course I'll leave once the snow stops.”

     “Oh, really? And where will you go?”

     “Somewhere far away, where no one can find me. I'll get a job as a servant and have an adventure.”

     The Beast began to rumble and after a moment she realized that he was laughing. “You do not call this an adventure? You're in a castle whose master is a monster, stuck in the midst of an eternal winter. You are a strange child.”

     Julia glared. “Well, of course this is an adventure. But you're clearly some sort of fairy king, and all the stories say that you shouldn't take too much help from fairies.”

     This only made the Beast laugh harder. “Fairy king! If only! Child, there is no such thing as fairies.”

     “What are you then?” Julia challenged.

     The Beast frowned. “I am a beast. Use your eyes, girl.”

     “And are you going to eat me?”

     “What-no! For God's sake, get that idea out of your head! I don't eat people!” the Beast cried.

     That was a relief. He seemed so genuinely disgusted by the idea that Julia felt a little better. But not completely. “And what about horses? Do you eat them?”

     “Why, are you afraid I'll eat your nag?”

     Julia pulled her sword out of her belt. “Don't you dare!”

     “Or what, you'll stab me with your wooden sword?”

     “I'll hit you with it if you try to hurt Cider. She's a good horse and she's escaped from Uncle, too, and I won't let you bully her!”

     The Beast stared. “Your sword is _wood_ , you realize.”

     Julia glared at him. She didn't think she'd stopped glaring since she came into the room. It was beginning to make her head hurt. “Wood hurts when you're hit with it.”

     “Well. So it does.” The Beast sat back and looked at her-not, Julia thought, unkindly. More exasperated than anything else. “Did you steal that, too?”

     “Yes. And I didn't steal Cider. I helped her to escape.”

     “Why?”

     “Because she was being treated unkindly. I don't like bullies.”

     The Beast snorted. “Clearly not. At ease, soldier.” And when she didn't move, he snapped, “I mean put your sword away! I will not harm you _or_ your horse, you have my word.”

     “Oh.” Julia put her sword back in her belt and stood awkwardly. The Beast eyed her again and sighed.

     “You are not at all who I was hoping would find us here, Julia Poilâne with the wooden sword and the stolen horse, but I find I am disinclined to send you away. If, when the storm ends, you decide you want to leave, I won't stop you. If you stay, I can promise you at least three decent meals a day, probably more if Mrs. Potts has anything to say about it, and a real bed in a real bedroom.”

     “What do I need to do in return?” Julia asked. Surely he wasn't going to let her just stay here.

     “Does it look like I need servants?” the Beast snapped. “I don't know what to do with a human child. I'm sure you'll think of something. Stay out of the West Wing and try not to get eaten by wolves, that's all.”

     “Really?”

     “Must I repeat myself? You can stay or go-though frankly you should probably go; it's safer for you.” He huffed at her, seeming unnerved by the smile spreading across Julia's face. “Well, go on, then. I'm sure you're longing to get away. I won't follow.”

     Julia turned and ran to the door, then stopped. She turned back to the Beast, who had already turned to the fire. “Thank you, sir.”

     He looked over his shoulder at her, and said gruffly, “You're welcome.”

 

 

 

Note: I don't know whose headcanon it is, that the young prince would copy Lumiere's mannerisms, but I liked it so much that I borrowed it.

 

 

 


	4. The Snow Queen

**Chapter Four: The Snow Queen**

 

     “I can stay! I can stay! He said I can stay!”

     Julia burst into the kitchen and slid to a halt before the table, where Mrs. Potts and Plumette waited, looking at her with smiles on their unnatural faces.

    “Of course he did,” Mrs. Potts said. “The Master really isn't so bad when you get to know him. A bit gruff, but deep inside there's a prince of a fellow just waiting to be seen.”

     Julia wasn't sure about that, but she let it go. “He said I can have three meals a day and sleep in a real bed. I told him I'd work and he scoffed at me.”

     Plumette swished her feathers. “We do not let guests do work here, miss. 'E is quite right about that.”

     “But I can't just live here without doing something!” Julia objected.

     Mrs. Potts and Plumette traded a comical glance. “You're doing something just by being here, child,” the teapot said. “Now. Why doesn't Plumette show you your bedroom, and then perhaps Chip can show you the castle. He knows all the best hiding places.”

     Well, of course she couldn't sleep in Mrs. Potts's sitting room forever, but still Julia felt a pang at the thought of leaving the kitchen. But she followed Plumette, pausing only to go to Monsieur Cuisinier and thank him for the marvelous breakfast. Then it was back out into the formal part of the castle, up the marble stairs and into the East Wing, where Plumette ushered her into a room bigger than Uncle's entire farmhouse.

     “Voila! We have prepared the Flower Suite for you, my dear,” the feather duster said. “Fresh sheets and no more dust, and Madame de Garderobe to keep you company!”

     Julia stood rooted to the spot just inside the door. It was a room from a fairy tale, all pale green walls and gold-painted carvings of flowers lacing the walls like a rose bush made wood. There was a bed with golden carved headboard and flowered bedding in what must be silk, with an enormous pale green canopy spread over it. An alcove held a little couch with curtains to pull across it for privacy, and there was a ceramic stove in another alcove. One entire curved wall was windows-they were in a tower. And there was a vanity table dripping with glass and crystal, laid with hairbrushes and the kind of trinkets Julia imagined a princess would need to prepare for a ball.

     “This can't be my room!” she exclaimed. “It's far too nice!”

     Plumette laughed. “It is nice, and yes, it is yours. Master wants you to have the nicest room in the castle. And here is Madame de Garderobe-she is sleeping now, but later she will make you the most lovely of practical dresses.”

     Madame de Garderobe appeared to be a wardrobe. Julia peered at her and saw that she was snoring slightly. This was new. Until then, she had thought that the Beast was the biggest creature in the castle, but the wardrobe could easily give him a run for his money. She grinned at the thought of Madame and the Beast racing each other.

     “She makes clothes?”

     “Yes, she made what you are wearing now.”

     Julia looked down at the fine dress she wore. It made her look like a human child, was what the Beast had said. Maybe she could get used to wearing nice clothes, if they made her look human. But then, the Beast wore clothes and he definitely wasn't human.

     Ah, well. There were more important things to think of.

     Luckily, they did not expect Julia to stay in her room all day. “The castle is your home now,” Lumiere said, “so you may go anywhere you like”.

     Except the West Wing. _Stay out of the West Wing and try not to get eaten by wolves_ , was what the Beast had said. Julia had no idea how she was supposed to _try_ not to get eaten by wolves-it seemed to her that one either did or did not, there was no try-but she had no intention of following the Beast into the West Wing. From what she gathered listening to the servants, those were where his private quarters were, and she was not about to beard the lion in its den, wooden sword or no wooden sword.

     The first days of her stay in the castle, Julia did not see the Beast much at all. He seemed to avoid her, and in truth she was fine with that. It was much easier to stay in the kitchen with Chip and Mrs. Potts and Monsieur Cuisinier, who doted on her. The stove was an excellent cook, and Julia, having discovered proper food, decided that she liked eating. As the snow showed no signs of stopping, she was content to spend her mornings watching the chef-stove cook, eating any tidbits offered to her. After the first day, Monsieur Cuisinier began to teach her how to cook, and from that point on, Julia's days began to form a routine.

     Every morning, she woke, washed, and dressed. Usually she put on her blue skirt and jacket, though Madame de Garderobe made her change her shirt and socks every day, and sometimes insisted on rotating new pieces in. These were a variation on a theme of jacket, bodice, and skirt, in all the colors of the rainbow (though Julia refused to wear anything that was pink or purple-she was _not_ a princess, and she _couldn't_ let herself wear those beautiful colors). The fabrics were always silk or satin or fine linen, but the clothes themselves weren't too fussy, and Julia found that she liked waking up to Madame's new creations.

     She took breakfast in the dining room, and though the table was always set for two, the Beast never joined her. That, too, was fine by Julia. Chip joined Julia every day, having declared himself her personal teacup. Lumiere usually came in to keep them company. He had a wonderful singing voice and knew many songs, which he sang to her while she ate. Then it was into the kitchen for her morning cooking lesson, where Monsieur Cuisinier might show her how to chop or slice or julienne vegetables (the knives insisted on showing her themselves) or how to make bread or pie. Whatever they made usually ended up on the luncheon table, again set for two and again serving one, except for those dishes which spectacularly backfired (Julia hid under her bed and cried the day she made the soup explode. It took the entire household to convince her that these things happened). The day that they made cookies together was a great success, which they repeated many times, and Julia, hoping to show the Beast her gratitude, began to leave a plateful of them at the top of the West Wing staircase after every baking session.

     Every afternoon, Julia went down to the little stable under the stairs to visit Cider. The first time she had done this, her first full day in the castle, she had had a scare when, on opening the front door and going out into the snow, she had found herself pursued by a tall hatstand, which grabbed at her and tried to pull her back inside. Julia had screamed and kicked at it, not understanding why it was waving fabric in her face and trying to get her back in doors. Lumiere and Cogsworth, playing chess near the fire, had come to her rescue, explaining that Monsieur Chapeau was the footman and did not want Julia to go out into the snow without her hat and coat.

     “I haven't got a hat and coat!” Julia had said, rather sulkily. She did not like being ambushed by sentient furniture and stood glaring at the hatstand. It waved a red woolen bundle at her, exasperated.

     “You have now,” Cogsworth had said, and Julia had allowed herself to be manhandled into a thick woolen greatcoat and soft cap by the hatstand. He tapped her lightly on the nose after he was finished with her buttons, and Julia thanked him, rather sheepishly. It was nicer to go outside in a coat than not.

     Cider was restless that first day, and so despite the snow Julia took her for a walk. Frou-Frou followed her, frolicking through the snowdrifts. They didn't get very far. By the time she returned indoors, her red coat was crusted in white snow, and for a while she stood melting in front of the door, while Chapeau mimed horror at the state of her. After that he tended to meet her with a clothes brush and a mop, and Julia decided that she liked him.

     And then, until dinner, nothing. The only problem with the castle, really, was that there was nothing that _needed doing_. The Beast hadn't lied when he said he didn't need servants. Every chore that needed doing was done immediately, before Julia could even offer to help. Even the napkins were capable of pressing themselves. And Monsieur Cuisinier wouldn't let her help with dinner, as her skills were nowhere near ready for that. After a week of frustration, Julia took herself to Mrs. Potts.

     “Can you read?” the teapot asked. “There's an entire library upstairs, though in truth Master closed it up years ago.”

     “I can't read,” Julia replied. “I wasn't allowed to go to school.”

     Mrs. Potts harrumphed. “Foolishness. How about exploring? Chip has shown you around, hasn't he?”

     “Yes,” said Julia. That had been a fun afternoon, but she hadn't had the courage to open any of the hundreds of doors they passed, just in case she found something she oughtn't to. She didn't tell Mrs. Potts that.

     “Well,” the teapot said, eyeing her. “I suppose what you really need are toys to play with.”

     “Toys?”

     “Dollies, for instance. There must be some in the attics.”

     Inspiration dawned. “Could I have some cloth? I know how to sew. I used to make Uncle and the boys shirts and trousers. And I can knit, too.”

     Mrs. Potts lit up, and shortly thereafter, Julia found herself sitting at the table before the fire in the front hall, going through a box of fabric. There was bundle upon bundle of it: flannels and silks and linens in all the colors of the rainbow and more. There was batting used to stuff blankets, threads in many colors, embroidery silks that must have cost a fortune. Julia sifted through it all, setting aside that which she wanted. Then, armed with needle and thread and scissors, she got to work.

     First she traced the body onto the fabric with a pencil, then carefully cut the pattern out. She sewed the two sides together, leaving the head open so that she could turn it right side out, putting the seams inside. She stuffed the batting into the doll's body until it was soft and huggable, then stitched the last opening closed. And voila! She had a dolly.

     Julia grinned.

     “What are you doing?”

     She started; in her concentration she had not noticed the Beast coming down the stairs. He stood nearby, looking at her curiously.

     “I'm making myself a dolly,” she said, holding the figure up.

     “Indeed,” the Beast said, but he drew nearer to see her creation. “I had no idea you could sew.”

     Julia shrugged. “It was my job on the farm.” For a moment she floundered, but he did not seem cross, so she pressed ahead. “I tell myself stories, you know, so I thought that since I have nothing to do in the afternoons, I could make dolls to act them out.”

     “And who is this, then?”

     Julia looked at the soft linen body. It had no hair and no face and no clothes yet, but she already knew who she was.

     “She's the queen of a northern kingdom. She has magical powers.” The Beast looked interested. Julia warmed to her theme. “She can make ice and snow, but she's afraid to hurt people with it. Only then a handsome prince comes to the kingdom, wanting to marry her sister, and the queen thinks that he isn't who he says he is. She tries to tell her sister, but they fight and then she accidentally freezes the entire kingdom.” She looked up at the Beast, wondering if she had prattled too much, but he motioned for her to go on. “So she runs away and her sister has to go get her, and together they have many adventures.”

     “And what happens to the prince?” There was something funny about the Beast's voice, but Julia couldn't exactly say what it was.

     “Oh, he's the villain after all. He just wanted to take over the kingdom. Only,” and she grinned, “only the princess finds out and punches him in the nose and sends him home.”

     The Beast rumbled a laugh. “Is that all? He's not executed for treason?”

     “No, I don't know what happens to him.” Julia thought for a moment. “I think maybe he doesn't get to be a prince anymore. That's his punishment. He has to muck out stalls until he realizes what a bad man he is and repents.”

     The Beast stared at her, his mouth slightly open. “And does he?”

     “I don't know. I don't really think about him very much. The sisters are more interesting.”

     The Beast was still looking at her in such a way that Julia blushed and looked down at her dolly. “Anyway, she won't really be the Snow Queen until I finish sewing her.”

     She had thought the Beast would leave her to it then, but to her amazement he sat down across the table from her. “And what about the princess? Will you make her, too?”

     Julia put her hand on another pile of linen. “Yes, this is her. I want to finish the queen first, though.”

     “Fair enough,” the Beast said. “You have a very active imagination for a farm drudge.”

     “I suppose so,” Julia said, taking up her pencil and carefully drawing a face onto her dolly. “People tell stories and I like to listen. I like to make them up, too.”

     “And do you write them down?”

     “No, I can't read.”

     “That's right, Mrs. Potts said you couldn't.” The Beast fell silent, watching her. After a few moments, Julia felt emboldened to ask a question.

     “Can _you_ read?”

     The Beast snorted. “I had an expensive education. Of course I can.”

     “Oh.”

     “Oh.”

     They sat silently for a few minutes, then Julia rather shyly asked, “What sort of stories do you like, then?”

     The Beast seemed taken aback by the question. “Adventure stories. Knights, and swords, and the like.” After a pause, he added, “And you?”

     “I like adventures, too. Nothing lovey-dovey. There were players in the village once, and they put on a story about two lovers who weren't supposed to be together and it was the stupidest thing I ever saw.”

     The Beast snorted again. “Your family let you go to see the players?”

     “No, I sneaked in. It was a waste of time.”

     The Beast laughed. “Was this play called _Romeo and Juliet_ , by any chance?”

     “I think so. There was a lot of sword fighting, which was nice, but also a lot of lovey-dovey nonsense, and then they just died at the end anyway. It was stupid,” Julia concluded.

     The Beast chuckled again. “I couldn't agree more.”

     Julia grinned.

     For a while they sat in companionable silence, then Julia slid the bundle of fabric that would become her princess doll forward. “Would you like to help me? You could cut out the princess.”

     The Beast gaped at her. “I can't _sew_.” He sounded so scandalized that Julia blushed.

     “It's not sewing, it's cutting,” she snapped. “Look, I can draw out the pattern for you. It isn't _hard_.”

     She wasn't to know it, but it was the condescension in her little voice that made the Beast pull the fabric to him and take up the scissors. And that was how Mrs. Potts found them when she came to bring their tea. For a moment she sat on the trolley and stared at the spectacle of the Master bent over the unbleached linen, laboriously cutting out along the pattern their small guest had drawn, while Julia, at the other end of the table, sewed a face onto her Snow Queen doll. Never in all her days had Mrs. Potts ever thought she would see such a thing as the Master playing with a child. She smiled.

*

     Later that night, when Julia went up to her bedroom, her two dollies nestled in her arms, she wondered at the Beast's words. _I had an expensive education_. What was that supposed to mean? And why did he live in a castle? And why were all the servants furniture? Something was strange here, something didn't add up. Julia put on her nightgown, drank her bedtime cocoa, and climbed into bed, wondering.

     She had run away in search of adventure and a nicer place to live. She had found both. Nothing made sense here-even the dog was furniture. _It's like a fairy tale_ , she thought as she curled up under her blankets. _It's a mystery_.

 

 


	5. The Curse

**Chapter Five: The Curse**

 

     Deep in the night, Julia awoke to the castle shaking. A deep stone rumble filled the air and the bed bounced on its feet. She lay still, frozen with horror, until the rumbling stopped, almost as soon as it had begun. The night was silent again. Only the trembling tassels on her bed curtains told her that the quake had happened at all.

*

 

     “Cogsworth, did you feel the castle shaking last night?”

     “The castle? Shaking? What do you mean?” The clock looked so startled that Julia was sure he was trying to buy himself time.

     “I woke up in the night because the castle was shaking,” she pressed.

     “Ah.” Cogsworth coughed. “It's an old building. I'm afraid it does that sometimes.”

     “Is it going to collapse?”

     Cogsworth gave her an enigmatic look. “We will _all_ collapse in time, Julia.”

     Julia scowled at the non-answer. “But not while we live here, will it?”

     “Dear me, look at the time. I feel sure I must be going-”

     “Cogsworth!”

     “It will not fall down on you, Julia; you have nothing to fear,” the clock said in a rush. “Tell me, can you tell time?”

     Julia stared. “No.”

     “Then it's high time you learned. Now, each day has twenty-four hours, and so a clock is divided into twelve-hour runs-”

 

*

     Newly learned in the art of telling time, Julia tracked Lumiere down in the ballroom, talking to a harpsichord.

     “Lumiere, did you feel the castle shaking last night?”

     “Ah, yes, _ma cherie_ , though it did not last for long. I 'ope you were not scared?”

     At last. “Only a little. Why was it shaking?”

     Lumiere and the harpsichord traded a glance. “I'm sure I cannot say,” the candelabrum replied. “Tell me, have you met Maestro Cadenza? 'E is the greatest musician Italy has produced.”

     “Don't exaggerate, Lumiere,” the harpsichord said.

     “'Ow can I exaggerate when it is true?”

     Julia left the two of them arguing the merits of great musicians.

 

*

     “Plumette, why was the castle shaking last night?”

     “Did it shake? I slept so soundly I'm sure I did not notice.”

     “It shook and sounded like it was about to fall down. Why?”

     “The castle is nowhere near falling down, my love. You don't need to be afraid.”

     “I'm not afraid,” Julia replied. “I'm curious.”

 

*

     “Mrs. Potts?”

     “If you're going to ask me why the castle was shaking last night, I'll tell you now that it isn't something you need to concern yourself with, poppet.”

     “Why not?”

     “Because the castle shakes sometimes and there is nothing anyone can do about it. Now. Cup of tea?”

 

*

     Julia sat just outside of Cider's stall, Chip on her knee. The two of them had escaped down here as soon as they could get away from the adults-it was funny to Julia that she should think of the staff as adults, but they _were_ , even if they were furniture. She had a suspicion that Chip would tell her what she needed to know.

     “I don't think we're supposed to talk about it,” Chip said.

     “Probably not,” Julia agreed.

     “It won't hurt _you_ , you know.”

     “What, the shaking?”

     “No, the-” Chip stopped.

     “What?”

     Chip sighed. “I don't want to get into trouble.”

     “I won't tell.”

     “It's just that everything has been so strange and difficult since we got turned into furniture and things.”

     Julia sat up straight. “You weren't always furniture?”

     Chip looked as astonished as a teacup could. “No! I was a proper boy once.”

     This was new. Julia narrowed her eyes at him. “What happened?”

     “Well...we got cursed.”

     “Why?”

     Chip sighed, looking miserable. “I'm not allowed to tell you. I'm really sorry, Julia.”

     Julia sighed, too. “That's all right, Chip. I'm sure I'll figure it out eventually.”

*

     Frustrated by the way no one would tell her anything, Julia took Cider and went for a ride.

     The snow had stopped falling in the night, and the castle grounds were cloaked in white. It was absolutely silent save for the crunch of Cider's hooves and the wuffle of her breath in the icy air. Julia held the reigns slack in her hands, thinking hard.

     A _curse_ , that's what Chip had said. But curses weren't real, surely? They were something in stories. But she could not ignore the evidence of her own eyes. Furniture didn't normally talk and laugh and move around. It didn't _dance_ , like she had caught Lumiere and Plumette dancing in the ballroom that one time. And beasts didn't wear clothing and walk around on two legs and act the lord of the castle. All right, then. Curses were real.

     Why was the castle cursed?

     Julia was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't realize that she and Cider had come upon the Beast until she was flying through the air as Cider reared. She landed in a deep snowbank with a squawk and lay momentarily disorientated, listening to her horse run away. She glared up at the Beast, who stood nearby looking nonplussed.

     “Damnation,” she said.

     “I was afraid that might happen,” the Beast remarked, moving around the bushes towards her. He did not sound angry, merely rueful and even a bit sad. “Are you hurt?”

     Julia was trying to scramble out of the snowbank. She grabbed a branch to lever herself up, only to have it snap off in her hands and dump a load of snow on top of her. Snarling, she kicked her arms and legs, and then found herself hauled up into the air as the Beast lifted her up by the back of her coat.

     “You look like a snowman,” he remarked, setting her onto her feet before she had time to scream and kick. He had never touched her before.

     Julia smacked at her coat and skirts, knocking the snow from them. “So would you if you fell into the snow. It shouldn't be snowing, anyway. It's nearly July.”

     The Beast shrugged. “It's always winter here. It has been for years. You'll have to get used to it.”

     Julia looked up at him. “Are _you_ making it snow?”

     “Hardly,” the Beast snapped. “Unlike your dolly, I do not have snow powers.”

     There was nothing to say to that. “Can you see Cider?” He was awfully tall, after all.

     The Beast stretched to his full seven feet and looked around. “No, but she ran back towards the castle. She won't leave the grounds, anyway; the gates are shut. Come along.”

     He strode off down the path; Julia trotted alongside him.

     “What are you doing out here?” she asked.

     “Can I not walk in my own garden?”

     “I suppose so.”

     They continued on in silence, winding through the shrubbery. The hedges rose taller than Julia's head, though not as tall as the Beast's, and twisted and wound in strange shapes. They were a little frightening to walk through alone, and though she would never have admitted it to him, Julia was surprised to find that she was glad that the Beast was walking alongside her. He at least seemed to know where he was going.

     “The gardens used to look quite different,” he said abruptly. “Before.”

     “Before the curse?”

     The Beast looked down at her, startled. Well, Julia wasn't going to apologize. _He_ had brought it up in the first place.

     “What do you know about that?”

     “Your servants are _furniture_ ,” Julia said scornfully. “Your dog is a _footstool_.” _You are a Beast_ , she did not say.

     “Frou-Frou isn't my dog; she belongs to Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza,” the Beast said. “I wouldn't name a dog Frou-Frou if I had one.”

     Julia almost rose to this, wondering what he _would_ name a dog, realized what he was doing, and refused to take the bait. “The castle was shaking last night and no one will tell me why.”

     “And you're just dying to know, is that it?”

     Julia took exception to that tone of voice. “Yes, and so would you be if you were me. Was it shaking because you're cursed?”

     The Beast sighed. “Yes, the castle shakes because we are cursed. Satisfied?”

     Not likely. “Why are you cursed? Did you do something naughty?”

     The Beast made an exasperated sound. “Yes. I did something 'naughty'.”

     “What was it?”

     All at once he lost his temper. “It's none of your business, that's what it is! You nosy little busybody; I should throw you out. Get out of here! Go find your pony and leave me alone!”

     Stung, Julia stopped in her tracks. The Beast, not looking back at her, strode on. Moments later she was alone in the snow.

 


	6. Exploration

**Chapter Six: Exploration**

 

     It took Julia some time to find her way through the maze of hedges back to the castle. When she did, she saw Chapeau standing at the base of the stairs, holding Cider's reins and looking around in some agitation. The hatstand bounded across the forecourt towards her, gesticulating his distress at her riderless horse, and Julia let herself be led inside to the kitchens, where Mrs. Potts and Monsieur Cuisinier fed her tea and cookies until her feet began to thaw. She did not tell them that she had encountered the Beast, or that he had admitted that there was a curse. She did not tell them how he had snarled at her.

     All that evening she couldn't settle. Lumiere, Cogsworth and Chip were in the dining room playing an elaborate game involving a number of balls that needed to be knocked through hoops for ten points each, but Julia couldn't bring herself to play with them. Monsieur Cuisinier and Mrs. Potts were preparing dinner, Plumette was nowhere to be seen, and Julia was still a little shy of Maestro Cadenza and anyway, he and Chapeau were playing music together. She tried to concentrate on sewing a new dress for her Snow Queen doll-a summery gown in bright green, to be worn on the Princess's birthday-but even that didn't hold her attention. At last she had to admit to herself that she was dying to know more about the curse the Beast and his staff were under.

     It dawned on Julia then that although the Beast had told her to stay out of the West Wing, he could not possibly have banned that entire part of the castle: Chip had shown her through several galleries in the West Wing on their tour. It was an enormous castle. Maybe there were clues, if she used her eyes and found them. Maybe she could help her friends.

     Because that was it. In the month since she had come to live in the castle, Julia had come to love the staff as much as her little unloved heart could. Not the Beast-she was still a little frightened of him, as well as fairly certain that her friends were cursed because of him. She didn't understand how he could be so grumpy and unkind all the time when he lived in such a wonderful place, with daily meals and warm beds and good friends all around him. But Mrs. Potts and Chip and Lumiere and all the rest-they deserved to be free and uncursed. And Julia was determined to find the way.

     Rising from her place before the fire, Julia put her dollies in her pockets and made sure that her sword was secure in her belt (it was; Julia never went without it). If she stayed to the passages that Chip had shown her, the Beast couldn't complain if she went exploring.

     The upper reaches of the castle were dim and quiet. Julia wound her way through great room after great room, occasionally going through doorways that she wasn't certain she had seen before. She was very quickly lost. These rooms were dusty, full of cobwebs and a strange musty smell, like laughter that had died. They were full of decaying furniture and old paintings and tables full of stuff. It was strange to Julia to see so many things left unused. She didn't like it; it seemed wasteful.

     At last she came upon a piece of wall that jutted out at a strange angle. On closer inspection it appeared to be a door, papered with the same paper as the wall and left open. Her heart began to beat faster; a secret passage! Gripping the handle of her sword, Julia slipped inside.

     She was not to know it, but the secret passage she had found was in fact a hidden servants' corridor that ran parallel to the rooms Julia had recently passed through. Eventually she came to a narrow little staircase and chose to go up rather than down. And that was how, through a circuitous route that no one had traversed in twenty years, Julia came to the part of the West Wing she had meant to avoid entirely.

     Straightaway Julia could see that there was something wrong with this part of the castle. The walls here were crumbling, great chunks of stonework missing and windows broken open to the snow. Great banks of candles lit the rooms she found herself in, leading up a stone staircase to a great carved wooden door. Julia debated with herself for a moment, then pushed the door open and went inside.

 _Oh dear_. It was obviously a bedroom, and even worse, it was obviously the Beast's bedroom. There were more candles in huge candelabra around the room and a small fire in a distant fireplace. Great chunks of stonework were missing here, too, and at last Julia realized that this was the part of the castle affected by the shaking. It was a nice room, though, and would have been comfortable if not for the weight of grief and anger that hung over it. There were gouges in the walls, too, and the floor was strewn with broken glass, as though its occupant had smashed many lovely things. The biggest bed she had ever seen stood to one side, unused and dusty grey, while across from it a great nest covered the floor. It was the nest that frightened Julia the most, though she couldn't have said why. She turned away and caught a pair of blue eyes staring at her. She gasped.

     A portrait hung on the wall, slashed and torn. Three people stood in it, a man, a woman, and a young boy. The woman was quite the nicest and most beautiful lady that Julia had ever seen. She was clearly a princess of some kind, her hair powdered, her pink dress sewn with pearls. She was smiling and her eyes were kind-Julia found herself smiling back. The man, though, frightened her; he seemed cold and cruel, glaring down at her. His face was slashed, as was the boy's. It was his eyes that Julia had seen, as blue as cornflowers under the summer sky. With a start, Julia realized that his eyes were the same as the Beast's.

     But that couldn't be. Could it? And why wasn't the woman's face destroyed like the rest?

     A light to one side caught Julia's eye. Even though everything in her screamed to run away before the Beast caught her in his bedroom, she turned and looked towards the stone balcony at the far end of the room. Its railings were crumbling and the window glass was long gone, letting the snow drift in. It was empty but for a huge marble table. And on that table glowed the light that had caught Julia's eye. She moved closer, staring.

     A glass jar stood in the center of the table. Inside, hanging by itself and glowing gently, was a single red rose. Below the stem lay a number of faded petals. Looking closer, Julia saw that the rose only had about a dozen petals left. Even as she watched, one fell from the rose and drifted down to the pile on the tabletop. And the castle rumbled and shook.

     “ _What did you do?_ ”

     The scream sent Julia leaping backwards, away from the enchanted rose. The Beast leaped towards her, crashing to a halt on the far side of the table. He must have been just outside, Julia realized.

     “ _Did you touch my rose?_ ” he screamed at her.

     “No! I didn't do anything, I just looked!”

     The Beast towered over her, forcing her backwards and away. For a moment she thought he would reach out and hit her. “Do you realize what you could have done-you could have _damned us all_! Get out! _Go!_ ”

     Julia turned and fled. Terror filled her so completely that she did not look where she was going, but hurtled through passages and down staircases until somehow she found herself in the entrance hall. The servants were shouting her name, Frou-Frou was barking, but Julia ignored them all and flung herself out the front door and down the steps to Cider's stall. The image of the Beast rearing over her and screaming filled her mind, so that she flung the saddle and bridle over Cider without thought to where she would go or what she would do. _Away_ , _away_. She had to get _away_. If she stayed she was sure that he would kill her.

     Cider, sensing her mistress's terror, leaped into a gallop as soon as Julia climbed into the saddle. They raced through the grounds, around the maze of hedges, back to the gate. It hesitated to creak open as she approached.

     “ _Let me out!_ ” Julia screamed at it and it sprang aside to let her and Cider catapult through, out into the moonlit woods.

 


	7. Flight and Fight

**Chapter Seven: Flight and Fight**

 

     Julia held on tight as Cider hurtled through the black woods. She had left without her coat, but she did not feel the cold. Wind sent flurries of snow to smack her in the face and freeze the tears on her cheeks, and still Julia urged Cider on. Something behind her howled. The Beast? _Wolves_.

     Grayish-white streaks ran alongside her, snapping at Cider's legs. The horse shrieked and plunged aside, crashing off the path into the underbrush. The wolves pursued, snapping and baying. Cider's feet slid under her-they had run onto a frozen pond. A wolf leaped at Julia; she screamed and ducked, falling off of the saddle. The wolf pack had her surrounded. Julia got her back to Cider and pulled out her sword, her pathetic wooden sword that the Beast had made such fun of. She swung it at the wolves, trying to keep them off of her and Cider. One or two fell back, but another leaped at Julia, its fangs bared.

     For a moment time stopped and Julia realized that she was about to die. And then something huge crashed into the wolf, sending it flying. Julia screamed. The Beast straightened up and the wolves, realizing the threat, swarmed towards him. They leaped at him, knocking him down, snapping at his arms and legs, trying to get to his throat. Cider shrieked and plunged; Julia grabbed her reins. The Beast flung the wolves off, tried to stand, and was forced down again as another wolf leaped onto his back, snapping and scratching. The Beast seized it and flung it away, then fell to all fours and roared. Julia felt the force of that roar in her chest; it turned her insides cold and shook the very ice they stood on. The wolves fled, yelping. They were alone.

     The Beast straightened. Julia stood frozen, clutching Cider's reins. _Now he will kill me_. He turned towards her, swaying, blood pouring from his wounds. He looked at Julia with those blue, blue eyes.

     “You're not hurt?” he gasped, and fell over.

     Julia ran around to Cider's other side, flipping the reins back over her horse's head. She thought she might throw up. The Beast lay moaning, his breathing ragged. Julia got hold of the saddle and put a foot in the stirrup. And stopped. _You're not hurt_ -was that what he had said? She looked at the Beast again, lying there. She could leave him, but the wolves would come back and she didn't think he would be able to fight them again. There was a lot of blood matting his fur. He _had_ been kind to her, sometimes. She took a deep breath.

     “Please,” she whispered, stepping towards him. “Please, if you can get onto Cider's back I can take you home.”

     The Beast looked up at her with his blue eyes filled with such pain that Julia started to cry again. She took his good arm and tugged at it, forcing him to stand upright and limp towards Cider. The mare was not pleased with that, but Julia held the reins and insisted, and slowly, slowly, the Beast clambered onto her back. And then it was a long walk back to the castle, through the ice cold woods, the Beast and Cider both groaning in discomfort. Julia fully expected the wolves to return and kill them all, but somehow they made it through the castle gates into safety.

     At the castle door, the entire household met them, shouting with dismay. Julia and the Beast found themselves swept up and born indoors while someone (Julia didn't see who) took Cider's reins from her and moved to put the horse up. Chapeau half-carried the Beast up the stairs to his bedroom, and Julia, surrounded by the staff, followed, tears running down her face. She stood watching as Chapeau deposited the Beast onto his dusty bed and stripped back the blankets, then helped the Beast out of his ruined shirt and cloak. There were deep gashes in his arm and shoulder where the wolves had torn at him, and he shouted with pain as Chapeau examined him.

     “You need to wash the wounds with salt water or wine,” Julia found herself saying. “Otherwise they'll fester. That's what happens with animal bites.”

     “I've got hot water,” Mrs. Potts said. Indeed, she was standing on the trolley, steaming, a basin at her side. “Plumette's bringing towels and spirits.”

     “Let me help,” Julia said, wiping her eyes. She couldn't seem to stop crying. She took up one of the towels, poured a handful of salt into the basin and watched as Mrs. Potts poured hot water over it. Wetting the rag, she carried it over to where the Beast lay collapsed on his bed and put it over the gash in his shoulder. His eyes sprang open and he roared with pain.

     “ _That hurts!_ ”

     Something snapped inside of Julia. “If you'd hold still it wouldn't hurt as much!” she cried.

     The Beast growled. “If you hadn't run away, none of this would have happened.”

     “If you hadn't frightened me I couldn't have run away!” she was yelling now, the tears still pouring down her face.

     “Well, you shouldn't have been in the West Wing!” the Beast snarled.

     “I didn't mean to be!” Julia screamed. “I was exploring and I got lost and I ended up here! I was trying to find a way to help break the curse because your servants are my friends and I love them and I don't know why they are so good to you when it's _all your fault_ they're furniture!” The Beast fell back, shocked, and the servants were gasping, but Julia was too distraught to care. “Why did you come after me if you're just going to shout at me? I'm not your slavey; I never did anything to you! I didn't touch your stupid rose, I just looked at it. I thought I could help, because you helped me. I tried to be your friend; I baked you cookies and told you my story! Only now I know that you're just like Uncle-you're a bully and a brute! And you make fun of me and yell at me and you didn't even let me run away! I wish you'd left me alone, because at least then I'd have been eaten by wolves and no one would miss me because _no one wants me!_ ”

     And she sat down on the bedside chair and put her face in her hands, sobbing.

     There was a long silence. Julia wept into her hands, wishing that she could go outside and lie down in the snow and die. Everything was her fault-her mother was dead because of her, her family hated her for it, she had nearly gotten the Beast killed...

     “Julia...” the Beast began, but someone shushed him.

     And then Chapeau's knobby hand was touching her shoulder and pressing a handkerchief into her hands. Julia hid her face in it. The hatstand put his hand on her shoulder again and urged her upright. Julia didn't look back as he led her away, out of the West Wing, back to her own bedroom. She couldn't stop crying. She went straight to her bed and climbed into it, boots and all, and tugged the blankets over her head. She did not hear Chapeau explaining to a concerned Madame de Garderobe what had happened. She did not realize that Frou-Frou had followed her and was whining in agitation next to the bed. Nothing mattered, nothing at all.

     Julia cried herself to sleep.

 


	8. Home

**Chapter Eight: Home**

     Alone in the West Wing, for he had sent his servants away, the Master of the castle lay in his bed and reflected.

 _You're just like Uncle, a bully and a brute_. That was what the child had said. It was as if she had hit him in the face; the shame of it twisted his insides. Just like Uncle. Just like the man who had beaten her and starved her and held her responsible for her mother's death. He remembered the way Julia had looked when she first arrived, the shock of seeing a bone-thin child dressed in rags standing before his fire. She had cried then, too, but she had stood her ground just has she had tonight. She dared to say things that no one else would. And he had nearly caused her to be eaten by wolves.

 _A bully and a brute_. The Master twisted, favoring his left arm in its bandages. He had not thought she would leave the castle when he shouted at her. He had not thought anything at all. The fear that had filled him when he saw her bending over the Enchantress's rose had been all-consuming. He knew what children did to flowers. How many times had he plucked the petal from the roses decorating his mother's rooms, rubbing each velvet piece between his fingers before letting it drop? The thought of Julia destroying the rose and making the curse permanent made him sick.

     If he had not looked into the Mirror and seen her riding out of the castle gates straight into the wolf pack, she would be dead now. Her blood would be on his hands.

     He turned against his pillows, the medicine Mrs. Potts had given him making him heavy and tired. _No one wants me_ , she had screamed at him, and his servants had all gasped. It was as though she had held a mirror up to him; he had wanted to say “no one wants me, either,” but Lumiere had waved frantically at him to shut up, and he had swallowed the words. Because people _had_ wanted him, once. His mother had loved him, and he had loved her dearly. Mrs. Potts had acted as his nanny once, and she had loved him. And then his mother had died, and Mrs. Potts was sent to the kitchens, and the world had become dark and cruel, and he had buried the pain and grief deep in his heart until he was _a bully and a brute just like Uncle_. Just like Father.

     Julia had never been loved. Never. And the sadness of that realization made the Master want to cry.

     And yet she persisted. She had blossomed under his servants' care, no longer a starving waif. What had she said? _I was trying to find a way to help break the curse because your servants are my friends and I love them_. It amazed him what loyalty a little kindness could inspire. She couldn't break the curse, he knew that. He had never even entertained the thought. The curse was unbreakable. And she was right-it _was_ all his fault. All of it. He sighed and closed his eyes.

     Somehow he would make it up to her, to all of them. He liked Julia. He liked her courage, her spirit, the stories she told about her dollies, even the daft wooden sword that she insisted on carrying. He would show her that he was not a monster. He would not act like Uncle, like Father, again. He would apologize. He would act as his mother would have wanted. He would not let Julia continue to think she was unwanted.

     His stomach settled. He slept.

 

*

     Julia awoke with the sun in her face and Frou-Frou the footstool dog lying against her side, carven feet in the air. Someone-probably Madame de Garderobe-had undressed her and put her into a nightgown and tucked her up in bed. She lay still under the thick blankets, not wanting to move. Her eyes were swollen from crying and her head ached. It was better to lie here. It was better to not get up. And so she didn't.

     For a long time, Julia lay in sorrow. She didn't want to think about yesterday's events, but they crowded themselves into her mind until she couldn't ignore them. The West Wing. The enchanted rose. The Beast's screams. Her flight into the forest. The wolves. She shivered. _Why_ had the Beast saved her? It was clear that he didn't like her. She had never met anyone so cold and prickly. But then, she was plenty cold and prickly herself. She had to be.

     The door to her room opened and the rattle of the tea trolley announced Mrs. Potts.

     “Julia, poppet, are you awake?” The teapot's voice was gentle.

     “Yes, Mrs. Potts.”

     Julia sat up as Mrs. Potts approached, disturbing Frou-Frou, who whined and rolled over. The housekeeper had brought up a breakfast tray with her: a basket of croissants with dishes of butter and jam, a soft boiled egg in a cozy, and a teacup that wasn't Chip. Mrs. Potts poured out hot chocolate rather than tea. There was a flower in a vase, too. Clearly the kitchen was trying to make her feel better. Julia took the tray and settled it onto her blanket.

     “That was a very brave thing you did last night, poppet,” Mrs. Potts said as Julia bit into a croissant.

     “Running away?”

     “No, shouting at the Master.” Mrs. Potts chuckled. “He's met his match in you, my dear. That's a good thing!” she added quickly, seeing Julia's face.

     “Why do you care about him so much? He's cursed you and you didn't _do_ anything.”

     “You're right there, poppet. We didn't do anything for him when his mother died, and his father took that poor innocent little lad and twisted him into something cold and cruel.” Mrs. Potts sounded so sad that Julia looked at her in astonishment. “But there is good in him still, that he doesn't know how to show. You shouted at him last night and made him think. There's a world of good in that, dearie.”

     Julia didn't see how, but she asked the question she'd been dreading. “Is he going to be all right?”

     “Yes, Julia, never you fear. We got the wounds cleaned and dressed and dosed him with medicine, and he'll be right as rain soon. You can see for yourself: he'd like to see you this morning, if you're willing.”

     Julia felt her breakfast turn to stone in her stomach. “See me? Why?”

     Mrs. Potts gave her a delicate look. “I suspect to see for himself that you're all right. You were in rather a state last night.”

     “Oh.” _Why does he care?_

     Still, there was nothing for it but to get up and get dressed. Madame de Garderobe woke up and gave Julia her outfit for the day: an ivory skirt and peplum jacket embroidered with tiny black and gold flowers. It was the most princessy of her outfits by far, but Julia was too sad to protest that it was too nice for her. Madame brushed her hair and tied a ribbon around her head and sent her off with Frou-Frou and Mrs. Potts.

     The Beast's rooms were far busier today than they had been when Julia had first stumbled upon them. Lumiere and Cogsworth were there, talking with the Beast; when they saw her, the clock and candelabrum greeted her warmly before taking themselves off to the far side of the room. Julia approached the Beast's bed with no small amount of trepidation.

     He was sitting up against his pillows, his left arm in a sling. Somehow he didn't seem as imposing as before. Julia realized with a start that he was looking at her just as shyly as she was looking at him.

     “Good morning, Julia,” he said gravely. No “Julia Poilâne” and a mock honorific.

     “Good morning, monsieur,” she replied.

     For a long moment they stared at each other, both aware of the staff watching in the background.

     “How are you this morning?” the Beast asked at last.

     Julia shrugged. “All right, I guess.”

     “Good, that's...good.” Again she had the sense that the Beast was having a difficult time making conversation. Despite how heavy and sad she felt, she felt a little bad about that.

     “Are _you_ all right?”

     “Well, no, but I will be,” the Beast replied. “I heal quite quickly.”

     “Oh.”

     The Beast cleared his throat. “Julia, I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was...wrong of me to frighten you so. I nearly got you killed. I am sorry.”

     This was so unexpected that Julia boggled at him. No one had ever apologized to her before, ever. She blushed.

     “I thought about what you said last night,” the Beast continued. “About... trying to break the curse. What do you know about it?”

     “Nothing, except that you're all the wrong things,” Julia replied. She looked down at her feet. “I was trying to puzzle it out, like in stories.”

     “There's no need to do that,” the Beast replied, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “You can't break the curse, Julia. I wish you could, but it's beyond you. It was made to be impossible.”

     “Why?”

     “I don't know.” The Beast sounded so despondent that Julia felt a rush of pity for him. “It would not matter so much if my servants were not cursed as well. They are innocent; the wrong was entirely mine. We have until the last petal falls.”

     Julia looked over at the rose under its glass dome. She remembered that it had only a few petals left.

     “What happens when the last petal falls?”

     “It's not for you to worry about, lamb,” Mrs. Potts said, her voice gentle. “You'll be all right.”

     “But-but there has to be a way! In stories there is _always_ a way!”

     “There is one way,” Cogsworth said. “But it is nothing that _you_ can do, my dear. Best to put it out of your head.”

     “We have time yet,” Lumiere said. “Come, come, _cherie_ , don't cry.”

     Julia wiped her eyes. “It isn't fair.”

     “No,” the Beast said. “It's not. Not for them. I...deserved it.”

     Really? Julia didn't think that anyone deserved to be turned into a monster, even if they were a terrible person. What good did it do? She turned away, looking for something to say. Her eyes fell on the scratched portrait on the far wall.

     “Was that you?” she asked, pointing at the little boy.

     The Beast followed her finger. “Yes. How did you guess?”

     “Your eyes are the same.” Julia moved closer to the painting. “Are those your parents?”

     “Yes.” This was said with such finality that Julia didn't dare to say anything more. She turned back to the Beast.

     “I'm sorry I came into your rooms,” she said. “I really did get lost. And I really wasn't going to touch the rose.”

     “I'm sorry I reacted the way that I did,” the Beast said.

     He sounded so sincere that Julia dared to ask the question she had been wondering about since last night. “Why did you come after me?”

     The Beast scoffed. “ I was angry and frightened when I yelled at you; that does not mean I wished you dead. You are a member of this household. I could not let you be killed when it was within my power to prevent it.”

     “I...I am?”

     “Yes,” the staff chorused.

     “Yes,” said the Beast. “The castle is your home now. Do you understand? I want you to stay. I'm...asking you to stay.”

     It was as if the sun had come out, or she had drunk a gulp of hot tea. Warmth filled Julia's chest and she felt her smile stretching across her face. _Home_. She went straight up to the Beast and put her hand on his and smiled and smiled. He gave her a gruff smile in return and awkwardly patted her shoulder.

     “Let's have no more of this 'I'm not wanted' nonsense,” he said. “You are a good girl. Remember that.”

     “I am?”  
     “Yes, dear,” Mrs. Potts said, rolling closer on her trolley.

     “Yes, of course, _ma cherie_ ,” Lumiere agreed. “You 'ave brought life back into this castle. You 'ave also made the Master think, which is perhaps good for 'im.”

     The Beast gave the candelabrum an exasperated look, but didn't contradict him. Instead he leaned back against his pillows again. “Lumiere means that I am not in the habit of being polite.”

     “ _Et voila_ , 'e said it 'imself. You see, miss, we need you 'ere,” Lumiere said, grinning all over his bronze face. “Whenever 'e gets a bit cantankerous, you can shout at 'im for us.”

     The Beast rolled his eyes and tugged on his blanket, sending the candelabrum flying off the bed, but, Julia thought, in a playful way more than a mean one. Julia began to giggle and, scooping Lumiere up, set him on the tea trolley with Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts.

     “I don't like shouting,” she said, “But thank you.” She looked back at the Beast. “Thank you.”

     After that, it was all right. The heavy sadness in Julia's heart faded, and she settled in to tend the Beast, despite his grumpy protests that he really didn't need to be fussed over. She thought that Lumiere was right: the Beast wasn't evil so much as he just didn't know how to be polite, even when he was trying to be nice. Grumpiness seemed to be his default. Julia thought that she would be grumpy, too, if she'd been turned into a Beast.

     She spent the rest of that day helping Chapeau and Plumette tidy up the West Wing, while the Beast dozed and Mrs. Potts kept her supplied with hot milky tea.

     “Why do you sleep on the floor?” she asked the Beast when he woke up and expressed shock and exasperation at them clearing away the nest he'd made himself. “Beds are so much nicer.”

     “Beasts don't sleep in human beds,” the Beast grumbled at her.

     “Frou-Frou sleeps on my bed,” Julia pointed out. “And Aunt's cat slept on her bed. Or Sam's bed. Wherever he wanted, really.”

     “Did he sleep on yours?”

     “No,” Julia said. “Lucifer only slept where it was comfortable. He didn't like my pallet.”

     “The cat's name was Lucifer?” The Beast began to shake with laughter. “That's...that's _terrible_. I can't believe she named him that.”

     “Why not?”

     The Beast couldn't seem to stop snickering, his shoulders shaking with repressed mirth. “Because it's the name of the devil!”

     “I...thought Père Robert said his name was Satan.”

     “ _After_ the fall, Julia. After.”

     Julia stared at him, confused. Maybe it was his expensive education, but she didn't know what he was talking about.

     “Oh come now, child, haven't you read the Bible? Even I had to read the Bible!”

     “I can't read,” Julia reminded him.

     The Beast sobered. “That's right, you can't, can you?”

     Julia hesitated, and the broom she had been holding whisked itself out of her hands and went back to sweeping up the remains of the Beast's nest. “Could you teach me?”

     The Beast looked astonished by the question. “I've never taught anyone to read,” he said.

     It wasn't a no and Julia pressed on. “I bet you could, though. You said yourself that you had an expensive education.”

     “Well...yes, I did.” He paused, thinking it over. “But being taught and teaching are two very different things.” Then, seeing her crestfallen face, he hurried to add, “But I suppose we can try. Tomorrow, if Mrs. Potts lets me out of bed, I will try to teach you to read. Only don't get your hopes up. I'll probably prove a terrible teacher.”

     Julia grinned. “Thanks, monsieur. You...you're a gent.”

 

 

Author's Note: Please feel free to leave comments if you like the chapter. I live for comments.


	9. The Library

**Chapter Nine: The Library**

 

     The next morning dawned grey and cold, the sky lowering and the clouds full of snow. Julia rose early and dressed quickly, having decided to take Cider out for a ride before her first reading lesson. She was so excited she could scarcely contain herself. Deep in her heart, she had always envied Nico and Sam their ability to write letters and read books. The thought of the Beast using his expensive education to teach her to read thrilled her to her very marrow.

     Cider was pleased to see her, and catching onto Julia's excitement, ran twice around the castle before applying herself to her breakfast. Julia gave her a good brushing and took herself up to the castle for her own breakfast, handing her coat and hat and gloves to Chapeau with a cheery grin. She skipped through the hall to the dining room and slid to a halt just inside the room, surprised.

     The Beast stood at the opposite end of the table, about to pull his chair out. He was dressed in dark breeches and a clean white shirt and a worn old coat, his arm out of the sling but still bandaged. The sight of him in the dining room surprised Julia. He had never joined her for a meal before.

     “Good morning, Julia,” he said, bowing a little before sitting down. “How is your horse this morning?”

     “We had a good run, thanks,” Julia replied, climbing onto her cushioned chair. “Mrs. Potts let you get up?”

     “Yes, contrary to what everyone seems to think, Mrs. Potts does not have complete power over me,” the Beast said.

     Julia giggled. “Yes she does. She has complete power over everyone. Only she's too nice to use it.”

     The Beast smiled. “You are happy this morning.”

     “Yes,” Julia agreed. “You are going to teach me to read today.”

     The Beast gave her a funny look. “You are a strange one, Julia. I used to have to be bullied and bribed into the classroom.”

     “Oh, that's because they were making you do it,” Julia said, reaching for a boiled egg. “If you don't want to do something it's always harder to do than if you want it. Does that make sense?”

     “You are a wise little woman,” the Beast said. He took the tureen of porridge and bent over it. “Are you going to eat this?”

     “I usually have hot cakes,” Julia replied.

     “Good,” said the Beast, and _he stuck his face into the tureen_ and slurped at the porridge.

     Julia stared, open-mouthed. Chip, at her elbow, giggled. The Beast raised his head from the tureen, porridge dripping down his furry face and into his beard, and looked at them. Julia began to grin.

     “Can you really eat like that?” she asked.

     “Yes,” the Beast said defensively. “My mouth was not made for spoons.”

     “Can I try?”

     The Beast looked taken aback, then slid the tureen down the table towards her. Julia climbed up onto the table, bracing her hands over it, and looked down into the milky cereal. It was a big tureen; she could put her head into it, no problem. She leaned down and stuck her face into the porridge, trying to lap it up as she had seen him do. It was hot and sticky and got all over her chin and into her eyebrows, but she managed to swallow a few mouthfuls. She could hear Chip laughing at her.

     “Julia! Get your face out of that porridge this instant!”

     Julia looked up to see Mrs. Potts coming out of the kitchen, looking scandalized. Chip and the Beast were both laughing; she grinned sheepishly, knowing she had cereal all over her face.

     “It's all very well and good for the Master to eat like that, but you're a young lady and I expect more of you,” Mrs. Potts grumbled. A napkin flew up and began wiping Julia's face.

     “But Mum, she looked so funny!” Chip said.

     The Beast was still chuckling. “Did you manage to actually eat anything, Julia?”

     “Yes,” she said, as the napkin gave her eyebrows a final wipe and flew off. “I think there are less messy ways of eating, though.”

     “Probably,” the Beast agreed, smirking. “But far less satisfying.”

     “Oh yes, go ahead and laugh!” grumbled Mrs. Potts, but Julia could tell she was amused. “Let's all eat like pigs at the trough, why don't we? I'll thank you not to teach her bad habits; you're the adult and you should know better.”

     The Beast feigned innocence. “Mrs. Potts, never in my life has anyone accused me of acting like an adult.”

     “Oh, indeed! Get on, you two, and eat your breakfasts like civilized people before I send you to the stables to eat with the pony.” Mrs. Potts refilled their teacups and rolled away, grumbling to herself.

     The Beast caught Julia's eye and winked.

*

     After breakfast Julia payed her usual visit to Monsieur Cuisinier, to thank him for the meal. She had asked the Beast if she ought to reschedule her cooking lesson, but he had said not to, and so she bounced up to the stove and told him excitedly that the master was going to teach her to read.

     “ _Eh bien_ , Mademoiselle Julia, then you can read all of the recipes in the great cookery books and become a great chef yourself,” the stove said.

     “Maybe I can write my own someday,” Julia said.

     Monsieur Cuisinier looked as thoughtful as a stove could. “I used to keep recipe journals, in my day. Good for practice. Now. What shall we make? Something for a young reader to snack on?”

     “Just one moment,” Julia replied, and flew out of the kitchen, out to the front hall, where the Beast was halfway up the West Wing staircase. “Monsieur! What sort of thing do we want to snack on during lessons?”

     The Beast turned, surprised. “What?”

     “What sort of thing do we want to snack on during lessons?” Julia repeated, and when the Beast still stared at her, added impatiently, “Do you want me to bake cookies or cake or those yummy cheese roll things that we have with dinner?”

     “Oh,” the Beast said. “Well. It's been a long time since I made a request.”

     “Really?”

     “Yes,” the Beast said, coming back down the stairs. He did not tell her that he hadn't eaten cookies until she came, out of penance. “I suppose...ask Monsieur Cuisinier to show you how to make German honey cookies. Those were a great favorite of mine, once.”

     “German honey cookies,” Julia repeated. “Very good, sir!”

     And she skipped away, leaving the Beast looking after her, not entirely sure what had just happened.

     German honey cookies were, Julia found, ridiculously easy to make. She wasn't entirely certain what made them German (or, for that matter, what or where Germany even was), but she liked the cakiness of them and the way they were sweet, but not too sweet. When Monsieur Cuisinier had taken the last batch from the oven, Julia covered the heaped plate with a napkin and carried it carefully upstairs, to the top of the West Wing stairs.

     “Monsieur!” she shouted up towards the Beast's rooms, uncertain whether or not she should go any farther. “I have your cookies!”

     The Beast appeared, coming not from his bedroom but from one of the other corridors off of the main staircase. “I could smell them across the castle. That kitchen can keep no secrets. Come along, then. We'll have our lesson in the library.”

     He strode off down the corridor and Julia trotted along beside him. Now that the moment had come, she was very nervous. What if she couldn't do it? What if she was too stupid to learn? What if the Beast got angry because she was stupid and decided not to teach her anymore?

     Then the Beast pushed open a pair of large wooden doors and led her into a huge room, and Julia forgot her worries in the amazement of seeing a library for the first time. It was really three rooms in one, with high ceilings and shelf upon shelf of books. There was a fireplace at one end and lots of squashy-looking armchairs and tables to sit at and read. There were stacks of papers and pens, bottles of ink, maps and strange brass instruments that Julia could not name, but which seemed entirely appropriate where they were. And the books! Julia had only ever seen books at Père Robert's church before, and even then there had only been a few. Here were thousands upon thousands of books, in beautiful leather bindings of red and blue and green and gold. Julia could not read, but she loved stories. For a moment she wondered if she had died and gone to heaven. She imagined that heaven was a library such as this.

     “Are you all right?” asked the Beast.

     “It's wonderful,” she breathed, beaming at him.

     He looked around, and smiled a little. “I suppose it is, yes. Come along.”

     “Have you really read all of these books?” Julia asked, setting her plate of cookies onto the table he had set up for their lesson.

     “Not all of them,” the Beast replied. “Some of them are in Greek.”

     Julia grinned. She felt as though her heart was going to swell right out of her chest. “I am going to read them _all_ someday.”

     “It'll take you a while,” the Beast replied. “First you have to learn your letters.”

     He took a sheet of fine writing paper and, grasping a pencil in his huge hand, drew out a set of shapes-letters, he called them. A and B and C and D...there were twenty-six of them and it was very important that she learn them all. Julia bent over them carefully, copying out each shape as the Beast wrote it. A like apple. B like bird. C like cookie. D like dog. The Beast's letters were neat; Julia's were clumsy, but she carried on. At the end of an hour she had the entire alphabet written out and could recite it almost without looking.

     “See, you put the letters together and they form words,” the Beast said. He wrote something on the paper and let Julia look at it. She could see that there were four separate words there.

     “What does it say?”

     The Beast tapped each word as he read it. “'My name is Julia'.”

     “Oh!” Julia looked at her name and decided she liked it. The J had a neat little curl to it and the I and the A looked so trim and pert. She looked up at the Beast and grinned. “Let me try.”

     She copied the words out, and he pointed out to her how each letter made its own sound and together they made words. It was like magic, Julia thought, tracing her pencil over his neat writing. How funny that little squiggles made language. She liked that.

     “And how do you write your name?” she asked. The Beast looked startled. “You _have_ got a name, haven't you? Your mama didn't call you 'master' or 'monsieur'.”

     “Well, no, she didn't,” the Beast admitted. “But I haven't used my name in many years.”

     “Why not?”

     “Because animals haven't got names.”

     This was so ridiculous that Julia gave him the most sarcastic look she possessed. “Cider has a name. Frou-Frou has a name. My aunt's cat has a name.”

     The Beast grinned a little. “Yes, Lucifer, I know.” He sighed and wrote something across the paper. Julia leaned over to read it.

     “My...name...is...Adam,” she said slowly. “My name is Adam. Your name is Adam?”

     “Yes,” the Beast said. “One-sixth of it, anyway. It's what I call myself, or used to.”

     “Oh.” Julia looked again at the word on the page. Two As, a D and an M. A-D-A-M. “I like it.”

     “Do you?” The Beast sounded amused.

     “Yes, it's nice, and it looks nice written down,” Julia said. “My name does, too.”

     The Beast smiled again. “Let me show you how to write 'Lumiere'.”

 

*

     That night, Julia dreamed that she was dancing in falling snow, only the snow turned into tiny golden letters that swirled across the sky into stories that she could read, adventures she could follow. She spun around and around and around in them, feeling the letters fluttering against her cheeks and settling into her hair, soaking into her to become a part of her. In her sleep, she laughed.

 

Author's Note: I hope you're all enjoying the story. Please comment and let me know what you liked!

 

 


	10. Labels

**Chapter Ten: Labels**

 

     “'The blue bird that flies over the dark wood.'”

     “Good, excellent! Next?”

     “'The calico cat that sleeps in the sunny window.'”

     “Well done!”

     Julia looked up at the Beast and smiled, pleased with herself. In the weeks since their lessons began, she had made leaps and bounds in reading. The Beast had found a children's primer in the library, and with him on hand to help her sound out the letters, Julia found that she could read. _She could read_.

     She could write, too, sounding out words to write little notes. The Beast set her tasks, such as writing descriptions of the castle and its inhabitants, and Julia did them in the little copy book he had found her.

_Mrs. Potts is a pretty china teapot._

_Chip is a silly teacup._

_Lumiere can sing and dance._

_Monsieur Adam is a curmujjin._

     “It's 'curmudgeon' with a 'dg' and an 'eo',” he said when he read that one, writing out the correction. “Don't ask me why because I don't know.” He did not object to being called a curmudgeon, probably because he knew that he was one.

     Julia took a pot of paste and a stack of paper and walked about the castle, labelling anything that wasn't alive, and some things that were, the better to help her spelling. Monsieur Cuisinier wore his label (“Monsieur Cuisinier, a Very Good Cook and Stove”) with no small amount of pride, but Frou-Frou (“Frou-Frou, a Footstool and Dog”) tore hers off and mangled it only just after Julia had pasted it to her side. She had some trouble with Chapeau's label until Cogsworth explained what a footman was and pointed out that perhaps using a piece of string to wear the label as a necklace would be easier than pasting it on. Chapeau nodded vigorously at this, and soon had a label swinging around his neck (“Chapeau: A Very Kind Hatstand and Footman”).

     Others proved to be less inclined towards a label.

     “It will interfere with my wings and I will be unable to fly,” Plumette said kindly. “But you may write 'Plumette, a Befeathered Lady' and display it on the mantle piece.”

     Chip didn't have a place to paste a label, and anyway he washed so often that it would have worn away very quickly. Instead, Julia folded two cards and placed them on top of the tea trolley that the Potts family used to get around the castle (“Mrs. Potts, a Teapot and a Dear”; “Chip Potts, a Teacup and a Fearsome Pirate”-and, after it rolled over her foot, “Monsieur the Tea Trolley, Ever Helpful”).

     “Are you going to make me a label?” the Beast asked, one afternoon at lunch.

     “Do you want one?” Julia asked, surprised.

     “Well, you're labelling everyone else...”

     Julia grinned. “I'll make you one. Here.”

     She wrote something out on one of the cards she was carrying around, then came around the table and presented it to the Beast. He read it and laughed. _Monsieur Adam, a Curmudgeon and Decent Fellow_.

*

     He would never admit it, but the Master was beginning to delight in interacting with Julia. It was funny, he thought. He had never bothered with children. He had never bothered with anyone, really. After his mother had died and Mrs. Potts had been sent to the kitchens, he had buried all thoughts of love. Love meant pain and sadness. Love meant loss. It had seemed better to him to build walls about his heart. It had been easier to hide behind the facade of pleasure, to let people come to him, than it had been to let them in, to see the true man hidden inside. And every party, every act of debauchery and selfishness had filled him anew with self-hatred, until he was so shriveled up inside that even the smallest act of kindness had seemed weak.

     Until an elderly beggar woman had damned him for it.

     The Master sighed. For so many long years he had raged against the unfairness of the curse. He had smashed almost every mirror in the castle, unwilling to see the monster within made manifest. He had forbidden his servants to call him by name; he had slept on the floor; he had eaten just enough to survive for so long, hoping to atone for his sins. And then a ragged peasant child had burst into his life and beaten down his defenses, her need for care and kindness so much greater than his fear and despair. Now the castle was beginning to be filled with light and laughter again, after so long. The staff were cleaning rooms that hadn't been opened in years, cooking food they hadn't bothered with since the curse began, playing with Julia, laughing and having fun. And Julia shone like a beacon, hardly the same child who had cried at the sight of him that first night, months ago. She could read, and write, and it filled him with immense pride. Pride in her, for learning. Pride in himself, for having taught her. It shocked him how good it felt. It shocked him to realize that he was happy.

     He looked at the label she had made him that afternoon. _Monsieur Adam, a Curmudgeon and a Decent Fellow_. He didn't know if this was love, the swelling of his heart when he looked at the child he was almost beginning to dare to think of as his. When Julia had given him his label, he had wanted to pick her up and hug her. No one had ever called him a 'decent fellow' before. And there was his name, the name his mother had called him, unused since her death, written large in wobbly childish letters.

     Monsieur Adam set the label carefully on the bedside table, where he would see it when he woke up.

 

*

_My name is Julia Poilâne. I live in an enchanted castle. I used to live on a farm. My ~~gardi~~ ~~gauradi~~ designated adult is Monsieur Adam. My best friend is Chip Potts. I am ten years old. Monsieur Adam is ~~angshu~~ ~~antient~~ won't tell me how old he is. Chip is eight and has been for a long time. I like reading, horses, and baking with my friends. I am very happy._

*

     “Monsieur Adam? When you said that Adam was one-sixth of your name, what did you mean?”

     Monsieur Adam paused. “I meant that I used to have a very long name. Six names, in fact.”

     “Whatever for?”

     “I was a prince. Princes have long names, even those of us who aren't related to the king. Adam is one of my six names.”

     “What are the rest of them?”

     He hesitated again. Then, “Francois Pierre Adam Alexandre Jean Etienne de Courcy. De Courcy is my family name.”

     Julia blinked at him. “That's...that's a very long name. I like Monsieur Adam better. But how is that only one sixth?”

     “Well, if you take the total, which is six, and take one name away, you have a fraction of the whole-” He broke off, staring at her. “Oh, lord. I'm going to have to teach you _math_ now, aren't I?”

 

 

Author's Note: Thank you for all the lovely comments! Each one makes me clap like a happy seal. I'm so happy at the reaction this little story is getting. :-)

 


	11. Stories and Snowmen

**Chapter Eleven: Stories and Snowmen**

 

     “'Stop, you scoundrel!' the captain cried, but they were no match for the mighty Flynn Rider. Rider seized the rope and swung between the two ships, whooping in triumph as he made away with the pirates' treasure. 'See you later, boys!' he yelled, only to land on his ship and fall straight into the clutches of the traitor Hector Barbossa!”

     Julia leaped from sofa to table, waving her sword. Chip leaped with her, doing his best pirate voice.

     “'Argh, you Rider, you thought I was your first mate? You'll be swimming with the fishes when I'm done with you!'”

     “But Flynn Rider had a plan, for he had long suspected that Barbossa was a villain. He let his former crew lock him in the bilge, thinking they'd won, only then he...I don't know. What should he do?”

     “String them up by their toes and slap them with fish,” Chip suggested.

     “With _fish_?”

     “And then one of them hits him with a really big fish and knocks him in the water, and he has to swim to shore.”

     “...Yes, all right, but how does he get out of the bilge?”

     “ _Sacre bleu_ , they are standing on the table! Shock! 'Orror!”

     Guiltily, Julia and Chip turned to see Lumiere standing in the doorway of the little drawing room, smirking at them.

     “You won't tell, will you, Lumiere?” Julia asked. They knew they weren't supposed to caper on the furniture. It was a cold day in late November. A storm had been raging outside all week, and Julia was beside herself with pent-up energy. Acting out stories with Chip had been a stroke of genius: two heads were better than one at imagining, and it was easy enough to gather all of the props they would need to play The Adventures of Flynnigan Rider in the little drawing room. The room was strewn with cushions.

     “You 'ave not got your shoes on, so I see no problem 'ere,” Lumiere said. “But you are late for luncheon, Mademoiselle Julia, and so you ought, as Cogsworth would say, to get your skates on.”

     “Oh!” Julia sprang down from the table and held out her hands for Chip to leap into. “Thanks, Lumiere!”

     “It is no problem, _ma cherie_! Per'aps lunch will facilitate the escape of M'sieur Rider in your brain.”

     Julia and Chip ran through the hall to the dining room, sliding a little on the polished floors. Monsieur Adam was already seated at the table, eyeing the stew in the bowl before him.

     “Are you going to stick your face in it?” Julia asked hopefully, sliding to a halt before her chair and setting Chip down.

     “I haven't done that in months,” Monsieur Adam retorted. “What makes you think I'll start again now?”

     “You looked like you were thinking about it.”

     “I think about a lot of things. For instance, I was thinking that chicken stew is appropriate on a day such as this.”

     “You can eat like you used to, if you want. I won't tell Mrs. Potts if you don't tell her I was jumping on the furniture.”

     Monsieur Adam looked at her in askance. “You were jumping on the furniture?”

     “...No.” Julia picked up her spoon and helped herself to the stew, not daring to look at the Beast. After a moment she heard him chuckle and dared risk a glance up.

     “How did Flynn Rider fare against the pirates?” he asked.

     Julia grinned. “You heard that?”

     “The entire castle heard it; the two of you were bellowing. A beast can't get a nap in around here without you infernal children making a racket.” Something had changed over the past months. Monsieur Adam often tried to sound grumpy and just...didn't quite make it. It was a nice change, one that Julia approved of.

     “Flynn beat the pirates, but then Barbossa double-crossed him and now-”

     “Now he's stuck in the bilge!” Chip shouted.

     “And we can't figure out how to get him out.”

     “But when he does, he's going to tie the crew up and slap them with fish!”

     “Only we have to get him out of the bilge, first.”

     Monsieur Adam blinked at them. “Why is he going to slap them with _fish_?”

     Julia and Chip stared down the table at him. “Have _you_ ever been slapped with a fish?”

     “I can't say that I have, no,” Monsieur Adam said.

     “Would you _want_ to be slapped with a fish?”

     “Certainly not!”

     Julia gave him a triumphant look. “ _That's_ why he slaps them with fish. Excellent idea, Chip.”

     “Thank you, Julia.”

     Monsieur Adam shook his head. “You two. Eat your lunch.”

     It stopped snowing later that afternoon, as the sun behind its layers of cloud began to head into the West. Putting the continuing adventures of Flynn Rider on hold, Julia put on her hat and coat, and ran down to the stable to look after Cider. The horse was full of energy after being cooped up for so long, and Julia decided to let her out to just roam the garden, rather than try to ride her. Together they wandered along through the snow, until Cider took herself off for a run. Julia followed at a slower pace, floundering through the snowdrifts, until she turned a corner and found herself in a little stone colonnade she had never seen before. She stared. Despite the snow, the stonework was festooned with blooming white roses. And there in the midst of them, holding a book, was Monsieur Adam.

     “Hello, Julia. You've found my rose garden at last,” he said. “I wondered how long it would take.”

     Julia tramped over to him. “It's pretty far away from the castle.”

     “Not so very,” the Beast replied. “Only the hedges have grown up around it and I've done nothing to stop them.”

     He pointed over his shoulder and Julia saw that they were indeed surrounded by tall hedges, and that the castle was just beyond. She could see the windows and balcony of the unused ballroom.

     “Why are the roses blooming in the snow?”

     “Magic.” Monsieur Adam grinned a little. “Have you not wondered where our food comes from?”

     “Monsieur Cuisinier said that it just appears in the larder.”

     “So it does. A gift from the Enchantress, so that we don't starve.”

     Julia abandoned her examination of the white roses and went to sit next to Monsieur Adam. He really didn't frighten her at all these days, even though he was so huge and hairy. He was rather sweet, really. Unsure of himself and inclined to hide his niceness behind grumpiness, but Julia could understand that. She felt the same way herself, sometimes.

     “Why did the Enchantress curse you?” She was dying to know. She hadn't asked since that day he had stomped off and left her behind in the snow.

     Monsieur Adam was silent for a long moment, and Julia was beginning to think he wouldn't answer when he spoke. “I was not...a good man, when I was a man. When my mother died I was devastated, but my father punished any outward show of grief. So I hid it and acted just like him-a bully and a brute.” Julia winced at his words, remembering how she had screamed them at him. Monsieur Adam went on. “He said, 'we are princes; we must not show weakness'. To him, love and kindness were weakness, and so I didn't show any kindness to anyone, ever. And then one autumn night, during a ball I was hosting here, an old beggar woman offered me a rose in return for shelter from the storm. I told her she was ugly and that she was unwelcome here because of it. And she turned into a beautiful enchantress and cursed me for a fool. She made me look like the monster I already was.”

     “Oh,” Julia said. It was a lot to process. “Is that rose under the glass in the West Wing hers?”

     “Yes, it's a reminder.” Monsieur Adam sighed. “It was a long time ago.”

     “Well, I don't think you're unkind, not anymore,” Julia said, and Monsieur Adam smiled.

     “Thank you, Julia. Shall we head back to the castle?”

     They tramped in the snow back towards the ballroom, where a narrow staircase led up to the stone balcony. Julia, looking at the pristine length of snow, had an idea.

     “Do you want to build a snowman?”

     “I've never built a snowman before.”

     “What, never?” Julia was scandalized. “It's easy, I'll teach you.”

     It _was_ easy to pack the snow together into large balls, and Monsieur Adam was good for lifting and stacking. Soon enough they had a large snowman, taller than Julia, standing guard over the balcony. Julia ran inside and returned with a sackful of coal from the kitchen. She sent Monsieur Adam to look for sticks to use as arms while she made its face. At last, they stood back and admired their handiwork.

     “He needs a name,” Julia said. “How about Olaf?”

     Monsieur Adam considered it. “He's too big to be an Olaf. He looks more like a marshmallow.”

     “What's a marshmallow?”

     “Your next cooking project with Monsieur Cuisinier, apparently.” Monsieur Adam gave her that look again, the one he reserved for when he remembered how awful her life had been before she came to the castle.

     “Well, we can call him Marshmallow and he can guard the castle from invaders,” Julia said. “That's really good, actually. May I borrow him for my Snow Queen? She has an ice palace.”

     “I'm not sure I could handle a sentient snowman,” Monsieur Adam remarked. “Even if he _were_ a bodyguard. Tell me, Julia, did you ever decide what happened to the wicked prince from your Snow Queen story?”

     “No,” Julia said. “I've been paying more attention to Flynn Rider lately. He has so many adventures. Shall we build another snowman?”

     Eventually they had a small army of them, strewn about the balcony. Monsieur Adam proved quite adept at their creation. Julia was proud of him.

     Then a naughty thought came to her. Stooping, she gathered a snowball together and, turning, threw it at him. It caught Monsieur Adam in the shoulder; he yelped and leaped around. Julia, shrieking with laughter, jumped behind a snowman.

     “Oh, no you don't,” Monsieur Adam said, and bent to create his own snowball. Only it was more of a snow boulder. He hurled it at Julia, peeking out from behind her shelter, and caught her smack in the face, sending her flying. She heard him chuckling as she fell over.

     “War! Tyranny!” she shouted, leaping up, and suddenly snowballs were flying as they chased each other across the balcony. Monsieur Adam was an easy target, lacking Julia's speed and snowball acumen, but he made up for it with sheer volume. Julia shrieked and laughed, dancing around and throwing snow, until her fingers were red with cold and they both looked rather like snowmen, themselves.

     “I surrender!” Monsieur Adam said at last, holding his hands up and laughing. “Let's go inside; you look frozen.”

     It was starting to snow again, anyway. Julia brushed herself off and, giggling, followed Monsieur Adam back into the castle. Chapeau found them by the snow they left melting in their wake, and fell on them both with the clothes brush, his rack whirling in annoyance. Mrs. Potts, seeing them, tutted.

     “Both of you, go and change into dry clothes at once,” she said. “You'll catch your deaths of cold. I'll have hot chocolate ready when you come back down.”

     “Yes, Mrs. Potts,” Monsieur Adam said.

     “Yes, Mrs. Potts,” Julia agreed, and they went their separate ways.

     “Well,” Mrs. Potts said to Chapeau and Cogsworth, rolling back towards the kitchen. “I told you that child would be good for him, didn't I? There may be hope for us yet.”

     “How? She can't break the curse,” Cogsworth said.

     “But he has to learn to love,” Mrs. Potts replied. “And he's opening his heart to that child, which he never would have done before. It's a step.”

     Chip gave an impatient hop. “In the Snow Queen story, it's the princess who saves the queen, not the prince. She loves her sister enough to get her to thaw all of the ice and snow.”

     “But that is just a story, Chip my boy,” Cogsworth said. “The enchantress was very clear: the master must learn to love another, and earn their love before the last petal falls. We need someone to fall in love with the master. And we are running out of time.”

     Chip didn't see the difference, but they had arrived in the kitchen, and in the rush to prepare afternoon tea for the master and Julia, the conversation was soon forgotten.

*

     Julia curled up in her favorite chair next to the library fire, absently stroking Frou-Frou's satin cushion. She was warm and drowsy from her adventurous day. She smiled. It had been a good day, Flynn Rider stories in the morning and snowmen in the afternoon. The thought of Monsieur Adam with snow in his fur made her smile. No, she wasn't scared of him at all anymore. He had taught her to read, and write, and do maths, and he played with her and made her laugh. When she thought about how he had acted her first weeks in the castle, Julia was amazed. He had promised to be nicer and he was. Julia even suspected that sometimes, when he forgot to be angry at himself for getting cursed, he was even happy.

     Sighing comfortably, Julia shifted in her seat. Dinner was over, and she would have to go to bed soon, but Mrs. Potts had begun to let her stay up a little later, so that someone could read her a story. She liked story-time with the castle staff. Their tastes were all so different. Plumette favored stories forbidden romance, while Lumiere could always be counted upon for tales of rogues and scoundrels. Cogsworth was of a more literal turn of mind, and he and Julia were working their way through world histories and natural science. Cogsworth knew a surprising amount about military history and fascinated Julia with his stories of Romans and barbarians and elephants crossing through mountain passes. Mrs. Potts read Julia and Chip fairytales, and if she cared to go down to the ballroom, Maestro Cadenza told stories from the opera and played her excerpts from them. Sometimes Julia could then get Madame de Garderobe to sing to her before bed. She was beginning to know an awful lot about music this way. She was beginning to know a lot about a lot of things. Julia grinned.

     If Aunt and Uncle could see her now, she bet they wouldn't even recognize her. If she had been inclined to go back to Villeneuve, which she wasn't, Julia would have loved to flounce into the farmhouse kitchen and see the looks on their faces.

     “What are you smiling about?” Monsieur Adam came into view, holding a book.

     “I was thinking about how Aunt and Uncle would react if they could see me now,” Julia replied.

     Monsieur Adam grimaced. “They don't deserve to see you,” he said. “But you can go back to Villneuve whenever you like.”

     “I'm not going there alone,” Julia replied. “I don't _really_ want to see them. I was just wondering.”

     “Ah.”

     “I don't ever want to go back to Villeneuve,” Julia said. “I hate it. It can burn to the ground for all I care.”

     Monsieur Adam looked a little shocked. “Was there nothing at all good in that village?”

     Julia sighed. “I suppose. I liked Agathe-she was the beggar lady; she gave me bread sometimes, when I was especially hungry. And I liked the tinker and his daughter, but everyone thinks they're odd and Aunt said we weren't to talk to them too much. But they were nice. Monsieur Maurice makes the most beautiful music boxes; he sold them in our market. And Belle-his daughter's name is Belle-let me eat the tomatoes in her garden and gave me rolls sometimes. She was kind. And Pere Robert was nice, too. But no one ever told Aunt and Uncle to stop hurting me.” She curled her feet up under her and sighed again. “I like it much better here. Are you going to read to me?”

     Monsieur Adam looked a bit sad, but he nodded. “Yes. Mrs. Potts says to tell you two chapters and then bed.”

     “All right,” Julia sighed. “What are we reading?”

     Monsieur Adam grinned. “A book that hasn't been written yet.”

     Intrigued, Julia sat up. “What?”

     Monsieur Adam presented the book to her. It was a funny small book with a paper cover. “Have you not thought that there are too many books in this library? Some of them haven't been written yet. It was another little gift from the Enchantress.”

     “You mean they don't exist?”

     “Not in our time. But we are out of time here, and so we are able to see books that won't be published for centuries. Where did you think all those children's books you like came from?”

     “ _I_ don't know,” Julia said. “Will they disappear when the curse is broken?”

     Monsieur Adam ignored the question. “Would you like to hear the story or not?”

     “I'd like to hear the story, please.”

     “Then hush your mouth.” Monsieur Adam settled into an armchair opposite Julia and opened the funny paper book. “'In the land of Ingary where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes....'”

 

*

     It wasn't until later, when she was tucked up in her bed for the night, listening to Madame de Garderobe snoozing in the corner, that Julia remembered that he had said “ _another_ little gift from the Enchantress”. What had he meant by that?

 

 

Author's Note: The plot thickens, as it were, and the Disney references abound. I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for all your lovely comments. And ten points to anyone who can guess where the fish slapping comes from. :-)

 

 


	12. The Magic Mirror

**Chapter Twelve: The Magic Mirror**

 

     Julia had long since learned her lesson about poking about the castle for information. She had also long since lost her fear of bearding the lion in its den, as it were, and besides, as Mrs. Potts had said once, sometimes you just had to shout back at the person shouting at you. Not, she was sure, that Monsieur Adam would shout at her for asking questions. He did not shout nearly as much these days, anyway (indeed, the closest he had come recently was when she and Chip had used a tea tray to slide down the main staircase, an escapade that had ended in bruises and the confiscation of the very annoyed tea tray).

     Accordingly, she went into breakfast the next morning with a plan. She arrived in the dining room early, dressed in one of Madame de Garderobe's new creations (a mossy green velvet skirt and paler green raw silk jacket- “Never say no to wearing velvet, bambina, if it's available to you!”) and sat awaiting the arrival of her guardian. When Monsieur Adam had arrived and was seated in his chair, Julia fixed him with a steady stare, which he pointedly ignored all through breakfast. Had she slept well? Yes. What were she and Monsieur Cuisinier going to cook today? Roasted chicken. Was she actually wearing velvet? Yes, Madame de Garderobe made me. It's not _too_ princessy. Julia was dying to ask him her question, but Monsieur Adam seemed set on ignoring her hard stare. But finally he threw his napkin down on the table and sat back.

     “Well, then, what is it you want to ask me, Mademoiselle Steady Stare?”

     “You said the non-existent books were one of the Enchantress's gifts. What are the others?”

    “Ah.” Monsieur Adam looked amused. “Well, the breakfast we just ate was one of them, and the roses in the colonnade are another. And, well, I have a magic mirror that shows me the outside world.”

     Julia almost leaped out of her skin. “A magic mirror? Like in the story? 'Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?'”

     Monsieur Adam made a face. “Not like that. It's a hand mirror. It shows me what I want to see.”

     “May I see it?”

     “Later,” Monsieur Adam said. “If you behave yourself.”

     “I always behave myself,” Julia protested.

     Monsieur Adam chuckled. “I heard a distinct admission to jumping on the furniture yesterday.”

     “Yes, but it wasn't anything _alive_.”

     “Good, I don't think I could handle another irate tea tray.”

      Julia squirmed. “ _Please_ let me see it.”

     Monsieur Adam considered. “Later, perhaps, after lessons.”

*

     If he was honest with himself, Monsieur Adam was deeply curious to know what Julia wanted to see in the Mirror. She rarely mentioned Villeneuve and her life before the castle, and when she did it was only with scorn. Someday, he suspected, Julia would really think about what had happened to her there, and react accordingly, but like the child she was, she looked only to the future.

     It made him sick to think that one day soon she would find herself all alone in the castle, the staff inanimate, himself a beast forevermore. The rose had only a handful of petals left.

     Monsieur Adam knew that the staff worried about what would become of Julia without them. He himself had no hope of the curse ever being broken, though he felt that he had amply learned his part of the lesson. He loved that little girl dearly, would have walked the world over to get her a blade of grass she wanted. If Monsieur Adam had had a daughter, he would have wanted her to be just like Julia. He wanted her to _be_ Julia. He wanted to continue to watch her learn and grow, to dote upon her and read her stories and watch her grow up. But beasts did not win happily ever afters. They did not get to have little adopted daughters or broken curses or days in the sun. He knew that, and he was resigned.

     Who could ever learn to love a beast?

*

     “Mama, when are we going to decorate for Christmas?”

     “On the first of December, Chip, and not a moment before,” Mrs. Potts replied. She gave him a fond look. “As I tell you _every year_.”

     Julia, swathed in the heavy smock Madame de Garderobe insisted she wear while cooking and up to her elbows in olive oil and herbs, looked around at them with interest. “You celebrate Christmas?”

     Mrs. Potts, overseeing the washing of the dishes, looked a little surprised at the question. “Yes, my poppet, of course. Only in the kitchen, mind; the master hasn't celebrated anything since the curse befell us, but the staff like to make merry just the same.”

     “We put out our shoes for St. Nicolas, even though we don't wear shoes,” Chip said, hopping a little on his saucer at the thought. “And he comes every year.”

     Julia rubbed a little of the herbed oil onto her chicken and bit her lip. “He never came to me.”

     “What, _never_?” cried Chip, and Julia shook her head.

     “Maybe he didn't like my sabots. That's what Aunt said. He always came to the boys.”

     Mrs. Pott tutted. “The more I hear of this aunt of yours, the less I like her. Saints don't discriminate.”

     “That is right,” Plumette said, flapping her wings. “'E brings me the loveliest baubles every year. I wear 'em to our Christmas party. And I am a grown lady!”

     Julia grinned. “What else do you do for Christmas?”

     Lots, apparently. As Julia set her chicken to marinating in its herbal rub, the staff filled her in on cherished Christmas traditions. They decked the kitchen in holly and ivy, which they got from the gardens, played games, sang Christmas carols. There were presents for everyone on Christmas and St. Nicolas Day, though Monsieur Adam never joined the festivities. _Probably because he thinks he doesn't deserve it_ , Julia thought.

     “Can we have Christmas outside of the kitchen this year?”

     Cogsworth and Mrs. Potts looked at each other. “I don't see why not,” Cogsworth said. “Considering it will probably be our last Christmas, baring some miracle, we may as well make the most of it, master or no master.”

     Julia's heart sank at the mention of the permanent curse. The undercurrent of sadness that filled the castle welled up for a moment, until Mrs. Potts jumped from table top to tea trolley and asked Monsieur Cuisinier for boiling water.

     “Leave that chicken and go have your lessons with the master,” the teapot said. “We'll bring him a nice cup of tea, why don't we?”

     And that was that.

*

     “Monsieur Adam?”

     “Yes, you can see the magic mirror.” Monsieur Adam gave her an exasperated look, and Julia was barely through the library door.

     “It's not that,” she said, rather more grumpily than she had intended. “It's about Christmas.”

     Monsieur Adam blinked. “Christmas?”

     “Yes. Mrs. Potts and Chip and Cogsworth and the others were telling me about how they celebrate every year in the kitchen, and I thought maybe we could celebrate in the entire castle this year,” Julia said in a rush. “And they said you _never_ celebrate Christmas, and I understand it's because you think you're a bad person, but I've never been allowed to have a Christmas and I think it would be wonderful if we could, and Cogsworth says that this is probably the last Christmas they're going to have and-”

     “Julia-”

     “-And I just can't _bear_ to think of them having a secret Christmas in the kitchen all by themselves and _please_ , Monsieur Adam, can we _please_ have Christmas with the entire household, _please_?”

     “Julia!” Monsieur Adam waved his arms to silence her. “Yes, we can have Christmas! If you've never had a Christmas before, and I'm shocked you haven't, then you shall have a proper castle Christmas.”

     Julia felt her face breaking into a huge smile. “Really?”

     “Yes, really.” Monsieur Adam grimaced at her. “You're right, I haven't celebrated Christmas in years. It would be nice to do it one last time.”

 _One last time_. Julia blinked, her smile fading. “Why won't you tell me how to break the curse? Maybe I _can_ break it, if you tell me how.”

     “You can't,” Monsieur Adam replied. “I know that.”

     Julia grumbled and cast herself down into the chair beside him. “It makes me so _sad_. I'd like to kick that Enchantress.”

     “It makes me sad, too, but that can't be helped. What's done is done.”

     Julia glowered. Monsieur Adam glowered back. At last, Julia sighed.

     “Fine. At least the staff know how to have a good time. Their Christmases sound like fun.”

     Monsieur Adam smiled a little. “Yes, I've often wanted to join them, but when I walk into a room, laughter dies.”

     “Is that why you don't join us very much?”

     “Yes. I want my staff to be as happy as they can be, cursed here with me. I wish that she would let them go. But come, I was going to show you the magic mirror.”

     Julia sat up, interested. “Yes. Where is it?”

     “Here,” Monsieur Adam said, unwrapping a finely wrought hand mirror from a velvet shroud. “I brought it downstairs with me.”

     He placed the mirror in Julia's hands. She peered into it; reflected back at her was a face that she recognized, but which seemed different to her. Her own face, no longer skin stretched over bone, but round and rosy. She looked up at Monsieur Adam.

     “It doesn't seem magic.”

     “It will show you anything you like, only you must ask it. Look.” He took the mirror back from her and said, “Show me the kitchen.”

     The mirror's silver glass rippled. Monsieur Adam's reflection vanished, replaced with a tiny window onto the kitchen, where Monsieur Cuisinier was putting Julia's chicken onto a spit and setting it over the fire. Lumiere was standing at the sink, talking to him about something. Julia looked up at Monsieur Adam and grinned.

     “Let me try!”

     But when the mirror was in her hand, she didn't know quite what to say. What did she _really_ want to see? The eccentric tinker and his reader daughter? Cider in her stable? There she was, brushed and wrapped in her blanket just as Julia had left her after breakfast. She looked up at Monsieur Adam, embarrassed.

     “I can't think of anything.”

     Monsieur Adam considered her. “Is there nothing you truly want to see? To know?”

     Julia looked at the mirror. “Show me how to break the curse.”

     She heard Monsieur Adam's sharp intake of breath, even as the glass rippled again in her hands. The mirror showed a shower of gold light, and then went dark. Julia sighed. It had been worth a try.

     Monsieur Adam did not shout. He looked at her disappointed face and put a paw on her shoulder. “Try something else,” he said gently.

     What else mattered but breaking the curse? She just wanted Monsieur Adam and all of the staff to be happy. Julia shook her head and handed the mirror back to him. “Let's read a book instead.”

     What was the point of having a magic mirror if it didn't answer the most pressing question you had?

*

     “And _then_ she told us that she's never even had so much as a penny from Saint Nicolas! Can you imagine! Those relatives of her wouldn't even let her celebrate like a normal child!”

     Mrs. Potts had been so upset by Julia's admissions that morning that she had sought out the master and was hopping about on her trolley in outrage.

     “Mrs. Potts, I would have thought it obvious by now that those people treated Julia as an object, not a little girl,” Monsieur Adam said. He remembered waking up to lavish gifts from Saint Nicolas: real swords, tin soldiers, a flintlock pistol that his mother had removed from his hands with a grimace. Cakes and cookies and meringues. It seemed so silly now, and yet he had loved putting his shoes out the night before and waking up to the presents. It saddened him that his little girl had never known such joy.

     “Well, it's high time she had something to celebrate,” Mrs. Potts grumbled.

     “Yes, she asked me today. I told her that we would have a proper Christmas,” Monsieur Adam replied.

     Mrs. Potts began to smile. “Good. That's good, master.”

     Monsieur Adam looked at her, suddenly shy. “Do you think...I am a beast. But I want to join you for it.”

     Mrs. Potts, if she had had arms, would have embraced him. “Adam, you are not a beast. You were before. You are not now, no matter what you look like.”

 

 


	13. In dulci jubilo

**Chapter Thirteen: In dulci jubilo**

 

     On the first day of December, Julia donned her coat and hat and followed Chapeau, Lumiere, and some of the garden staff out into the grounds to collect the holly and ivy with which to decorate the castle. At the last moment, Monsieur Adam joined them, dressed as he usually was in his worn overcoat, with his mane all wild about his ears. Then Julia decided that Chip simply must come along with them, and ran back to the kitchen, returning with the teacup on her shoulder. They tramped through the snow, away from the formal gardens, to a forested area near a frozen lake. There holly bushes grew in abundance-planted by some de Courcy ancestor in happier times just so that the castle would have Christmas garlands, Monsieur Adam explained. They all pitched in, cutting the branches and loading them into the cart, with Chip directing operations. At last, with more greenery than Julia could imagine them needing, they returned to the castle, where Mrs. Potts was waiting with hot mulled cider.

     And then the decorations went up. Lumiere was in charge of this, bickering companionably with Cogsworth over where to put what. Boxes of Christmas ornaments (thankfully, none of them cursed servants) were brought out of storage, and Julia and Chip spent several amusing hours carefully removing each bauble, each tiny angel and painted instrument, from its wrappings and putting them where Lumiere directed them. There were long strands of delicate glass beads to wind around the holly and ivy, and Julia took a strand and draped it about her neck, pretending-just this once!- to be a princess. They had chosen to decorate the front hall and the grand staircase, as well as the little drawing room and dining room. Plumette had dusted everything and flitted about, wearing a single gold bauble around her neck and laughing. Monsieur Cadenza came out of the ballroom and stood playing carols at the foot of the stairs.

     Monsieur Adam sat by the fire, content to watch Lumiere directing operations. The children were laughing and the staff were enjoying themselves. For so long he had avoided this, punishing himself. It seemed such a waste, now, all those lost years. He thought with some longing of the concerts Maestro Cadenza and Chapeau had given for the staff, after, concerts he had never intruded upon.

     “Do you know, Maestro, after the Enchantress came, I used to sit on the stairs and listen to you and Chapeau play together,” he remarked.

     The harpsichord looked astonished. “Master, you should have joined us! Those concerts were to lift everyone's spirits.”

     “Ah, well, I did not wish to disturb you. You seemed to enjoy them so much,” Monsieur Adam replied. He remembered well how laughter had died whenever he entered a room, before Julia came. He had been so full of despair and misery that it hadn't seemed fair to inflict himself upon his servants.

     “Master, if I may say, music helps,” Cadenza said. “I am honored that you listened to us, even if it was in secret.”

     “Thank you, Maestro,” Monsieur Adam said. He gave the musician a small smile.

     “What is your favorite carol? I am ashamed that I do not know,” Cadenza continued.

     Monsieur Adam thought for a moment. “I always enjoyed _In dulci jubilo_. We used to dance to it.”

     Cadenza chuckled. “Ah, yes, an ancient piece, but no less wonderful for it's age.”

     And he launched into the ancient carol. Julia, up on the stairs, sat down to listen. It was a sprightly piece; she could well imagine dancing to it.

     “Are there words?” she called when Cadenza had finished.

     “Yes, but I do not sing,” the maestro said, sadly. “That I have always left to _mio amore_.”

     “Do _you_ know the words, Monsieur Adam?”

     The entire staff swung round to look at their master, curious to hear his answer. Monsieur Adam, for the first time, was glad of the fur that covered his face, so that they could not see him blush. “Well, yes, but it's been a very long time...”

     Julia clapped her hands. “Please, will you sing it for me?”

     Again, every eye in the castle was on Monsieur Adam. For a moment he was tempted to snap at her and stomp away, but he restrained himself. “You should ask Lumiere. He's the performer.”

     “Ah, but Master, you always 'ad a sweet voice when you could be bothered to use it,” Lumiere replied, ignoring Monsieur Adam's baleful glare.

     Julia slid down the stairs and fixed him with that wide-eyed look that he could never say no to. “Please? _Please_?”

     “Oh, very well,” Monsieur Adam grumbled. He cleared his throat, feeling like a fool. “I warn you, it won't be pretty. Are you ready, Maestro?”

     “ _Certamente_ , master!” Cadenza played a rippling introduction. Monsieur Adam bid silent farewell to any dignity he had remaining and began to sing.

 

“ _In dulci jubilo_

Now sing with hearts aglow

Our delight and pleasure lies

_in praesepio_

Like sunshine is our treasure

_matris in gremio_

_Alpha es et O_

_Alpha es et O_.”

 

     His voice surprised him; it was a rich deep baritone and didn't sound half as bad as he had expected. There was a round of applause from Julia and the assembled staff, those without hands banging on whatever they happened to be standing on. Monsieur Adam grinned a little.

     “That's the first verse, and that's all you're going to get, mademoiselle,” he said to Julia.

     His little girl grinned. “Thanks, Monsieur Adam. It was beautiful.”

 

*

 

     Julia couldn't sleep that night. She was too keyed up, too full of wonder and delight to nod off. The castle looked _beautiful_. True, it always looked beautiful, but by the time they had finished putting up the Christmas decorations, it looked like something out of a fairy tale, all gilt and glass and greenery. In the soft candlelight of evening it had glimmered and gleamed, and she had looked on it as one enchanted. The village dressed itself up for Christmas, certainly, but nothing could beat this. There had been enough greenery to decorate the kitchen, and she suspected that they would put more up in the rest of the castle, as well. Lumiere had promised to make her a garland to hang in her room, too.

     Julia tossed and turned and eventually gave up on sleep. She slid out of bed and into the dressing gown that Madame de Garderobe had made for her, a quilted pink silk confection that the wardrobe had forbidden her to go without at night. With her slippers on, she made hardly a sound as she took her Snow Queen dolly and slipped out of her bedroom, retracing her steps to the grand hall, down the stairs to the chairs by the fire.

     Even this late at night, in the fire's dying glow, the Christmas decorations gleamed like some fairy's garden. Julia settled herself in the big armchair and stared, letting her imagination dance. How would the Snow Queen and her princess sister react? How would Flynn Rider, now that he had escaped the pirates and settled in a sunny kingdom? She told herself stories until the stories took on a mind of their own and became dreams. She slept.

 

*

     Monsieur Adam, prowling the castle as was his wont late at night, came across Julia sleeping in the armchair and smiled. Gently, so as not to wake her, he picked the little girl up and carried her back to the East Wing. Her bedroom door was open; he carried her inside and lay her down on her bed, careful not to wake Madame de Garderobe, snoring in the corner. Monsieur Adam tucked his little girl up in her bed, safe and warm with her dolly in her arms. For a moment, he rested his paw on top of her head. _Good night, dearest little one, and sweet dreams_. And then he slipped out of the room and closed the door gently behind him.

 

 

Author's Note: In dulci jubilo is a Christmas carol over 800 years old, and was originally a dance (as most ancient carols were). It's gone through many variations over the centuries, until we now have the dirge-like version often sung at Christmas. This is the one Cadenza would have played: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cspWZmxeMHs, though this is the one that I prefer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIUlEUWKloM. 

Last chapter tomorrow! And then I will have to write another story. :-)

 


	14. Saint Nicolas Day

**Chapter Fourteen: Saint Nicolas Day**

 

     On the afternoon of December fifth, St. Nicolas' Day Eve, Julia set herself the task of polishing every shoe that would be set out that evening. It was a surprising number, for though the staff did not wear shoes, they possessed them. Julia found that it made her a little sad, that they still had these remnants of their human selves around them, saved in a box for their yearly Saint Nicolas Day outing. It reminded her of the curse, and her powerlessness to break it. And so she sat on the kitchen floor and polished each and every shoe, chatting with Chip and trying to guess which shoe belonged to which member of staff.

     Chip's was easy to find: a boy's boot in stout leather. The rest weren't so easy. A delicately embroidered ladies' slipper might belong to Plumette, or it might belong to Madame de Garderobe. A more durable version of the same might belong to Mrs. Potts. The unadorned black gentleman's shoe might belong to Cogsworth, and this gold shoe with the bows was probably Lumiere's. Julia, armed with saddle soap and a fine cloth, polished them all.

     Strangely, most of the staff seemed to be missing that afternoon, and there were no lessons. Monsieur Adam was nowhere to be seen, either, and Julia wondered about that.

     “They're probably having a party without us,” Chip said when she mentioned it.

     “I can't really see Monsieur Adam at a party, can you?”

     “Oh, yes, he used to have parties all the time,” Chip replied. “I used to sneak into the ballroom and watch, even though Mum said I wasn't allowed to.”

     Julia looked up in interest. “Really? What were they like?”

     “They seemed like a lot of fun. There were always beautiful ladies in big dresses and wigs, and Madame de Garderobe would sing, and they all danced. And Monsieur Adam danced to. I don't know that he had fun, though.”

     “Why not?”

     Chip shrugged, a grand feat for a teacup. “I dunno. He seemed sad sometimes. And when he was sad, he got angry. And he would say things that were funny, but mean.”

     “Huh.” Julia reached into the box and pulled out one of the very last shoes. It was a gentleman's evening shoe, made of exquisitely soft tooled leather with a diamond buckle at the front. At least, Julia thought the glittering white stones were diamonds. She'd only ever read about them before.

     “That was one of his,” Chip said. “Mum offered to put it out the first year-I think she thought it might make him feel better-but he got mad and locked himself in the West Wing and didn't come out for a week.”

     “Monsieur Adam can be very dramatic,” Julia said. She began to polish the fancy shoe. “I like him a lot.”

     Chip gave her an interested look. “Do you really?”

     “Yes, of course. He saved me,” Julia said. She couldn't imagine what her life would have been if she hadn't found the castle and her friends there.

     “Maybe you should tell him that,” Chip said. “That's why the Enchantress cursed him.”

     “I thought it was because he was a bad man.”

     “He was. He wasn't nice, and he didn't love anyone. That's the lesson he had to learn, why he couldn't be a prince anymore. Like in your story.”

     “Oh.” Julia thought about the wicked prince who tried to take over the Snow Queen's kingdom and didn't get to be a prince again until he had repented. “I never thought of it like that.”

     It seemed to Julia that Monsieur Adam _had_ repented of his wickedness. She thought of all the penances he had done, and how he had really started to be nice to her only after she had shouted at him for being like Uncle. He wasn't a curmudgeon anymore, not really. If she had still needed to label the household, she would have changed his to just “a decent fellow” or maybe “a dear”. Because he _was_ a dear. He was a lot like how she imagined a father should be, if she had had a real father.

     “Anyway, I think he's more like the Snow Queen,” Chip continued.

     “How?”

     “He thinks he's bad,” Chip replied. “But he's not, really.”

     Julia finished the shoes shortly thereafter, and carried them and Chip out into the front hall. She left the shoes in a neat row on the table by the fire, to be dispersed however the servants chose. The castle bustled with a strange kind of energy, which in later years she would learn to associate with adults planning something exciting, but which at the moment she had no name for. Excited, but also a little bored, she and Chip wandered up to the library, where they spent the rest of the afternoon reading adventure stories and then playing Flynn Rider until Mrs. Potts called them for dinner.

     Monsieur Adam was grinning to himself as Julia sat down on her chair. He looked absolutely pleased about something. Julia eyed him, suspicious.

     “Why are you smiling?”

     “I'm not smiling.”

     “You are!”

     Monsieur Adam made a fearsome face, belied by the way the corners of his mouth kept twitching.

     “You're still smiling.”

     “Julia, eat you dinner.”

     She did, glaring at him across the table, hoping he would crack and tell her what he was so happy about. This time, however, her hard stare had no effect on him. She tried a different tactic.

     “I polished everyone's shoes today.”

     “Oh? I wasn't aware that anyone still had shoes.”

     “Of course they do! Where do you think I got my boots when I came here?”

     “Those were mine when I was a boy,” Monsieur Adam replied.

     This surprised Julia, though she couldn't have said why. She looked under the table at them. “They're not as fancy as the shoe of yours I polished today.”

     It was Monsieur Adam's turn to look surprised. “What shoe?”

     “The shoe in the Saint Nicolas box, that Mrs. Potts keeps with the Christmas decorations. Chip says they put their shoes out every year, but you had a tantrum when Mrs. Potts put yours out, because you were doing a penance.” Monsieur Adam blinked at her. “It's a very nice shoe,” Julia said hastily. “I like the diamonds.”

     “And what about your shoes? Did you polish them?”

     “I'm _wearing_ them,” Julia replied, not quite rolling her eyes. “I'll polish them before I go to bed.”

     “Which will be early tonight, I'm sure,” Monsieur Adam replied, his mouth twitching again. “The earlier you go to bed, the sooner Saint Nicolas can come.”

     “He's never come to me before,” Julia protested. She was tempted to say that Saint Nicolas was probably not even real, though she didn't want to offend the saint, in case he was. “I don't know why you think he will this year.”

     “Believe me,” Monsieur Adam said, his eyes gleaming. “He will come this year.”

     Julia narrowed her eyes at him. “Monsieur Adam, you are being sneaky.”

     “That's my right as an adult,” Monsieur Adam replied. “Now finish your dinner.”

     And try as she might, Julia could get nothing more from him.

     After dinner she lolled about, polishing her boots and listening to Monsieur Adam read aloud about the adventures of King Arthur and the Round Table. She did end up going to bed early, excited in spite of herself. Julia had had ten years of disappointment when it came to Saint Nicolas Day. She did not want to get her hopes up, but Monsieur Adam seemed so certain that she would wake up to a present that she couldn't help but be excited. It took her a while, but eventually she fell into a deep, easy sleep, and did not wake despite the bumps and shushes that filled her room in the small hours of the morning.

     When she opened her eyes the next morning, the first thing Julia saw was the chair drawn up next to her bed, with her boots resting on it. And on the boots, and arrayed around them and even in them, were the most exquisite little dolls that Julia had ever seen. She sat up, gasping in wonder. Each doll was the size of her hand or smaller, made out of fine porcelain and dressed in beautiful clothes. There was a grand lady in yellow silk, her real hair powdered and coiffed; a fine gentleman in a blue satin suit with gold embroidery; a trio of children, two boys and a girl, all dressed in silks and satins. There were two grandparents as well, and a handful of servants: a footman, a maid, a butler, a cook. There was even a tiny porcelain whippet dog. Julia took each doll and set it on her bed, marvelling. They were perfect in every way. She could imagine that they would have great adventures together.

     And then Julia looked up, and rubbed her eyes. She had to be dreaming. There couldn't actually be a doll's house set up between Madame de Garderobe (still snoozing) and the stove that warmed the room. Julia slid out of bed and walked up to it, eyes like saucers. It was a castle. _The_ castle. A real, actual, scaled-down model of the chateau she lived in, as tall as she was, with a front that swung open on a hinge to reveal each miniature room. There was the ballroom, the front hall, the grand staircase. There was the library, and the East Wing tower and the West Wing tower. There was the dining room, the little drawing room, the kitchen. And when she walked around to the other side, there was the colonnade with the rose garden. It was _real_ , made of wood and thin stone and real glass, painted and decorated just like the real castle. And in a box under the stand the dolls' castle stood on was all of the furniture she would need to make it habitable for her doll family.

     It was the single most extraordinary thing Julia had ever seen in her life, and there was no doubt in her mind that it was hers. Her Saint Nicolas day present-and not from Saint Nicolas, she thought, though the dolls had been in her shoes. It was from Monsieur Adam. This was why he had been grinning to himself all of last evening. This was why he and the staff had all but vanished all afternoon. This was why he had said with such confidence that Saint Nicolas would come to her. Julia felt tears come into her eyes. She turned and stumbled back towards her bed, fumbling for her dressing gown and slippers. Then, leaving the dolls lined up neatly on her pillow, she flew out of the room, out of the East Wing towards the front hall. She was certain that Monsieur Adam would be awake and downstairs, waiting.

     And she was right. As she ran down the grand staircase she saw him standing before the fireplace. He had dressed up for the day, wearing a waistcoat and a less-worn jacket, his mane brushed and plaited back from his face.

     “Good morning, Julia. Did Saint Nicolas visit- _oof_!”

     Monsieur Adam staggered a little as Julia leaped into his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!” she cried, hugging him with all her might. In her enthusiasm, she did not realize that she had never hugged her guardian before, but Monsieur Adam did. He hugged her back, tight but gentle.

     “You like it, then? It's not too princessy?” he teased, even as his heart brimmed over.

     Julia's eyes were shining. “It's _wonderful_! Wherever did you find it?”

     Monsieur Adam set her down, smiling. “It was my mother's. It's been in her rooms since she died; no one has touched it. I thought you might like it for Christmas.”

     Julia clutched his sleeves and smiled up at him. “Why are you so nice to me? I haven't done anything!”

     Monsieur Adam snorted. “Haven't done anything? My dear girl, you have brought this entire castle back to life! We were wasting away before you came to us. And then you showed up entirely by accident and turned all our lives upside down, especially mine, in the best possible way. And, well, you're my little girl. Why shouldn't I give you something that belonged to someone else dear to me?”

     Julia thought she might cry again. _His_ little girl. She did something then that she had never done to anyone before: she reached up on her toes and kissed Monsieur Adam's furry cheek. “I love you, too, Monsieur Adam.”

     For a moment there was an astonished silence, as though the very air was listening. Then the room exploded into golden light. Julia let go of Monsieur Adam with a gasp, thinking for a moment that the Christmas decorations had exploded. Light suffused the room, crackling over her hair and skin and clothes, shining so brightly that Julia had to cover her eyes. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone. Blinking, Julia looked around for Monsieur Adam, stunned and not a little frightened.

     The Beast was gone. Where Monsieur Adam had stood seconds before was a man. He wore the same clothes as Monsieur Adam, and his blond hair was plaited back just the same, and he was barefoot as Monsieur Adam normally was. He was looking at her with all the astonishment that Julia felt.

     “Julia!” He took a step towards her, wobbled on unfamiliar legs, and fell to the floor with a gasp.

     Julia didn't know what to do. Somewhere else in the castle she heard shouting, but it didn't really register. She stared at the man sitting on the floor in Monsieur Adam's clothes. He held a hand out to her, slowly, as though he didn't want to frighten her.

     “Julia,” he said again, looking up at her with his blue, blue eyes. “It's me.”

     “Monsieur Adam?” He nodded, looking as though he were about to cry. Julia reached out and put her hand on his face, to see if he was real. His cheek was warm and smooth under her fingertips. Julia looked into his blue, blue eyes again, and began to smile. “It _is_ you! But- _how_?”

     “You broke the curse,” he said, sounding flabbergasted. “I didn't think you could, but...”

     He held his hands up and looked at them, ran them over his hair and face, hugged himself. He was crying now, and smiling all over his face. And then he reached out and swept Julia into his embrace, hugging her and laughing and crying all at once. Julia clung to him, her heart bursting.

     “It was love, wasn't it?” she shouted in his ear, pulling back and smiling at him. “That's what broke the spell, just like the Snow Queen! Chip was right!”

     “Yes, it was love,” Monsieur Adam said, wiping his eyes. He couldn't stop smiling. “The terms of the curse were that I had to learn to love and be loved in return. I never thought it meant _family_ love-!”

     “ _Adam_!” A woman with red hair flew into the front hall, holding the hand of a little boy. She threw herself down onto the floor next to them and flung her arms around both of them. “It's you! We're free! _Julia_!” And she seized Julia and kissed her all over the face.

     “Easy, Mrs. Potts!” Monsieur Adam exclaimed, laughing. “She doesn't recognize us!”

     But Julia had guessed that it was Mrs. Potts, and she leaned on the woman, laughing. “You're human! You're all human!”

     “Julia, it's me! It's Chip!” yelled the boy who had run in with Mrs. Potts, and Julia screamed and hugged her friend.

     More people were running in, shouting in shock and wonder. An elderly gentleman who could only be Cogsworth, followed by a tall and skinny gentleman who appeared to be Chapeau, burst out of the little drawing room. From the ballroom, a gentleman shouting in Italian, followed by a small brown dog-Maestro Cadenza, who bounded up the stairs yelling for Madame de Garderobe, Frou-Frou at his heels. A handsome gentleman clad in golden velvet careened across the front hall into the arms of the most beautiful lady Julia had ever seen-Plumette, in a feathery wig and white gown-and kissed her with such extravagance that Chip and Julia both groaned in disgust. The couple broke apart, laughing, and rushed to the group by the fire.

     “Oh, my prince!” the golden gentleman cried, and Julia recognized Lumiere.

     “Hello, old friend,” Monsieur Adam said, climbing to his feet and walking straight into the older gentleman's embrace.

     “It's so good to see you,” Lumiere said, clutching him.

     Plumette reached out a hand and helped Julia to her feet. “You have saved our lives, mademoiselle,” she said, and kissed Julia on both cheeks. “But however did you do it?”

     “I told Monsieur Adam I loved him,” Julia said, a trifle dazedly. It amazed her that she had broken the curse. All of her friends-her family-were around her and human and laughing and crying with happiness, and she was so bewildered by it all.

     Chip put his arm through Julia's. “Like in the story! The Snow Queen, remember? An act of true love saved everyone! I _told_ you it didn't have to be romantic, Mum!”

     “It's a miracle!” Cogsworth exclaimed. “Never in all my days-You were right, Chip my boy!”

     They swarmed around Julia, patting her cheeks and shoulders, hugging her, thanking her, until Monsieur Adam waded through them and knelt down before her, taking Julia's hands in his.

     “Julia,” he said, looking at her closely. “Are you all right?”

     “I-” she swallowed. “I'm so happy.”

     Monsieur Adam smiled a real, human smile, showing perfectly normal teeth. “You've saved us all, Julia. Thank you. _Thank you_.”

     “Are you going to be a prince again?”

     He looked startled. “I-I suppose so. The Enchantress cursed everyone to forget us, but I suppose they'll remember now.”

     “Then I can't live here anymore,” Julia said, and the smile vanished from Monsieur Adam's face. The staff exclaimed as one.

     “Why not?” Monsieur Adam asked.

     Julia tried to explain, sadness welling up inside her despite her joy. “I'm not a princess. I'm a farm girl. Living here when there was a curse was one thing, but-”

     “But you can't stay while we're free?” Monsieur Adam asked. Julia nodded. Monsieur Adam gave her his most sardonic look. “What nonsense. Of course you are going to stay here with us. You can't just leave us now!”

     “But-but I'm no one. I'm not a princess.”

     “Nonsense,” Monsieur Adam said again. He looked around at his staff, his friends, and then back at Julia. “Julia, I said before that you are my little girl. Let's make it official, shall we? Will you be my daughter?”

     Joy flooded into Julia's heart. “Really? You mean, _really_?”

     “Yes,” Monsieur Adam said, and,

     “Yes!” shouted the rest of the staff.

     Julia began to grin, even though she was crying. “All right, then.”

     And she threw her arms around his neck and hugged Monsieur Adam with all the strength she had, wonder filling her. A broken curse _and_ a father for her first Saint Nicolas Day! That was certainly one for the books.

     After that there was no thought of anything but celebration. All hands turned to making breakfast, even Monsieur Adam, who insisted on helping and was eventually banished from the kitchen nursing burnt fingers. A feast soon appeared on the table, all social rules suspended for the day as everyone concentrated on refilling empty bellies and using arms and legs that had been missing for so many years.

     At ten o'clock, the first of the visitors from the village arrived, for Monsieur Adam had been right when he guessed that the memory curse was gone as well. Père Robert arrived with a group of people seeking their long-lost family members, and the joyful shouting started up again. Julia, recognizing many of the villagers, pressed herself close to Monsieur Adam's side. They didn't seem to recognize her, but she remembered the blind eyes they had turned to her suffering and felt cold and anxious. Her papa put a reassuring arm about her shoulders; he would not let anyone harm her, ever again. The priest made his way to them, bowing to the prince.

     “Your Grace,” he exclaimed, “The Lord has worked a miracle.”

     “And Julia,” Monsieur Adam agreed. “You are new to the region since I was cursed, Father.”

     The priest smiled. “Yes, your grace; I've been in Villeneuve two years.” He registered Julia then, standing under the prince's arm with a shy smile on her face. “Why, Julia Poilâne! Is _this_ where you've been?”

     Julia stood up straight. She had always liked the priest. “Yes, sir. Monsieur Adam adopted me before he was a prince again.”

     “She broke the curse,” Monsieur Adam said. “And she is Julia de Courcy now. I would like you to meet my daughter, Father, for she is mine now and I will not release her to her relatives again.”

     Père Robert met his eyes, serious. “And I would _never_ ask you to, your grace. I see that you have done Mademoiselle Julia a world of good and I thank you for it. She hardly looks the same child.”

     Monsieur Adam smiled down at Julia; she grinned back. “The good was entirely hers, Father. We would all be lost without her.”

     Later still, a woman in rough brown homespun made her way into the castle, past the reuniting friends and families and into the little drawing room, where Julia had fled from the masses to play with her new dolls and reflect on her good fortune. Monsieur Adam was sprawled on the floor nearby, a small smile still gracing his lips, playing dolls with her. Lumiere and Plumette were there, too, arms wrapped around each other, talking with Monsieur Adam about throwing a celebration ball before Christmas. The woman stood in the doorway, quietly observing them for several minutes before she was seen.

     Julia saw her first. “Agatha!” she cried, recognizing the village's beggar woman.

     Monsieur Adam shot to his feet, his face white to the lips. Julia glanced at him, puzzled; Agatha was harmless. She tried to explain it to him, that this was the Agatha who had sometimes shared her bread with Julia, when she had a little to spare. Monsieur Adam nodded, polite but frightened.

     “Madame,” he said. “I hope you can see that the curse has been broken.”

     “Yes, your grace,” she replied, her face serene. “I knew it would happen. I am pleased that Julia found you. I did try to direct her path.”

     Julia blinked; she had found the castle because of a fallen tree. Something was going on here that she didn't understand. She looked over at Lumiere and Plumette. They were clutching each other, watching Agatha fearfully.

     “If you sent her to me, I must thank you,” Monsieur Adam replied. He bowed to her. “Although I didn't understand it until this morning.”

     “She needed a home,” Agatha said. “And you needed a family. Are you happy, Julia?”

     “Yes, Agatha,” Julia said. “This is my papa.” She grinned at Monsieur Adam. It thrilled her to say that.

     Agatha nodded and looked back at Monsieur Adam. “Your days will be long and blessed, Prince Adam. You will find more joy, for you have learned to love.”

     And she turned and left the room, and was seen no more by the inhabitants of the castle and of Villeneuve.

     Julia stared after her. “That was the Enchantress, wasn't it?”

     “Yes,” Monsieur Adam let out a gusty breath and looked over at Lumiere and Plumette. He began to laugh, and sank down on the sofa. “That sounded very like a happily ever after. I suppose you could say it's the perfect ending.”

     “No, my prince,” Lumiere said, smiling. “It is the perfect beginning.”

     “Yes,” Monsieur Adam said. “Yes, it is.”

 

 

 

Author's Note: Phew! I threw a lot at you guys in this chapter. I hope you liked it. And as Bugs Bunny would say, that's all folks! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I can't tell you how much fun I've been having. :-)

 


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